


Out Of These Dark Places

by Furorscribiendi



Category: Supernatural, The Sentinel
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Sam/Dean UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furorscribiendi/pseuds/Furorscribiendi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to hunt down the Trickster changes everything for Dean and Sam Winchester. Meanwhile in Cascade, Washington strange murders have Detectives Ellison and Sandburg stumped. Before it's all said and done, weird doesn't begin to describe what should have been a straightforward case for the detectives and a simple enough thing to deal with for the Winchester brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a SPN/Harry Potter crossover. That bombed spectacularly. As in, "Oh my God, the Hindenburg is on fire" bombed. My beta suggested a SPN/The Sentinel crossover (for entirely selfish reasons, I’m sure =P) and it worked. I had the fic’s plot mapped out in my mind and followed it. dark_incarnate has been awesome, providing feedback and catching all those little typos that I miss. Pecan grahams and Star Trek for her when I see her next.
> 
> The main bogey in this fic, I blame entirely on my little sister’s French homework. I can't believe I didn't realise that revenant is the gerundial form of revenir. And to think I took French for 9 years. Even more terrifying: I"m helping my little sister with her French homework.
> 
> There is a half finished sequel to this lurking on my laptop somewhere. I haven't the faintest idea of when I'd get to it. And there's also a fanmix lurking here: http://furor-scribiend.livejournal.com/124195.html.

“Dude… I freakin’ hate tricksters.”

Sam just watched for a moment as Dean stomped over to the driver’s side of the Impala. They had spent the past week running around Scranton trying to figure out the cause of the strange incidents. In retrospect though, Sam mused, they should have seen it coming. It was the university all over again but scaled down more. While it wasn’t the same as alien abductions and alligators in the sewers, all the cases were linked by an eerie sense of poetic justice. The adulterer coming home to find her husband cheating on her, the trusted banker exposed for embezzlement and –

“Hey!”

The sound of Dean’s voice was accompanied by a knock on the top of the Impala. He focused on Dean who was now looking at him intently.

“You still with me?” Dean was starting to look worried.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam gave his head a slight shake as he opened his car door. “Just thinking…”

“About?” Dean asked before he got into the car.

Sam was silent for a moment as he got into the car. “Where did the trickster go?”

“Damned if I know,” Dean grumbled as he put the key in the ignition and turned the engine over. “One minute he was laughing and the next thing I know, nothing.”

“Wait, laughing?” Sam turned to look at Dean.

“Yeah, the laughing,” Dean got a really pissy look on his face. “That damned sonofabitch was just laughing right up until he disappeared.”

Sam watched as Dean turned his attention to the road, put the car in neutral and pulled away from the warehouse. In all honesty, Sam was a little bit confused about what Dean was talking about. He hadn’t heard any laughing at all.

___________________________________________________________

Nothing was going Dean’s way tonight. First that damned trickster gave him and Sam the slip. Then the Impala was down to its last gallon and filling up had been a close call when his credit card was denied the first time but approved the second. Then the last motel that they managed to get to was jam-packed, so he and Sam were forced to share a bed.

So here he was lying in bed, listening to Sam snore an unholy racket. It also didn’t help that Sam was a bed hog with sharp elbows and knees.

Plus, the friggin’ sheets were as scratchy as hell.

With a stifled sigh of frustration, Dean rolled out of bed and looked at the clock. The clock face was reading three fifteen in the morning. He looked at the clock face a bit longer, before he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands for a moment. Damn, that stupid green LCD display was ridiculously bright. He made his way over to the chair. It was an old thing, made of leather that was worn thin in some places from use. The lamp by the chair had seen better days, but seemed like it was in working condition. Dean settled down into it with a sense of relief.

Definitely much better than the bed, and who cared if his back gave him a little hell tomorrow. Sam could drive and make up for the fact that he had hogged the bed. Dean glanced over to the piece of furniture in question. Sure enough, Sam was already sprawled out over the whole thing, feet poking out from underneath the blankets. Those pale feet seemed to wink at him in the almost non-existent light in the room and Dean shook his head with a chuckle.

“Maybe we should take a case in Florida or something. Sammy could work on his tan...” Dean murmured as he shifted in the chair and got comfortable.

He reached up and flicked on the lamp. The light hummed on, flooding the spot in yellow light. It was on the lowest setting, but it was more than bright enough to read with. He picked up John’s journal and started flipping through it slowly. The time slowly ticked by and when Dean finally looked back up from the journal, the curtains were becoming bright with the approaching dawn.

There came some shifting from the bed now. Dean wouldn’t have thought anything of it but he heard a long, slow and deep inhalation from Sam. That was always a precursor to him waking up. Maybe if Sam woke up in as much darkness as possible, he might go back to sleep for a bit. He closed the journal and was about to turn off the light when Sam sat up and spoke, his voice groggy and confused.

“Dean? Why are you reading in the dark?”

“The light’s on genius,” Dean clarified before he reached up and turned it off. “Just go back to sleep.”

“M’kay.” Sam lay back down and was snoring up a racket again in no time.

Dean watched Sam for a long moment, making sure his breathing rhythm indicated deep sleep, before turning the light back on and flipping through the journal. There was a strange section in here on tricksters. Nothing made sense, but there were plenty of tiny little spiders scribbled across the page. Every time Dean looked at it, he couldn’t help but think about all those myths about Anansi and seriously wondered if Dad had met one of the most infamous tricksters of all. Then there was the word, ‘Abonsom(?) - Isanna’ circled heavily a few times and a few more spiders scribbled around it.

There were times flipping through John’s journal gave Dean a serious headache.

He closed the book and rested it on his stomach. The sleepiness was starting to seep into his limbs and make his eyelids feel heavy. Dean forced himself to get up before he dozed off in the chair. He quietly got dressed and silently left the motel room. Dad’s journal was safely tucked into his inner jacket pocket.

First, he’d get breakfast. Then he’d form a plan of action before hitting the road. He seriously doubted Sam would have a problem with that.

Dean hopped into the car and thankfully the doughnut place wasn’t busy when he got there. He got breakfast and hustled back to the motel. By the time he parked the Impala, the sun was up fully and people were already heading to their vehicles. Dean jogged up the flight of death trap metal stairs – that really was the only way to describe them in his mind – and quietly entered the room again.

Not that it mattered, since Sam was up and pulling on a pair of pants. Dean closed the door behind him and held up the spoils of his trip.

“Got your breakfast here Dracula.”

“Huh?” Sam looked at him blankly.

“Your feet practically glow with radioactive paleness.” Dean quipped.

Sam made a face as he looked around the room. Apparently he was looking for a clean shirt and didn’t find it, since he pulled on the one from last night.

“Did you sleep well last night?”Sam asked as he pawed through the food Dean brought.

“I didn’t sleep,” Dean shrugged when Sam looked at him in concern. “Between you hogging the bed and making the godawful unholy racket –”

Sam sounded exasperated when he cut off Dean with, “What unholy racket are you talking about?”

“The snoring. Man, I probably should have stuffed the blanket in your nose to shut you up.”

“… Dean, I don’t snore.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” Dean rolled his eyes before taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich. “Wow, this food tastes even faker than I remember it being.”

“Seriously, are you feeling okay?” Sam was looking very concerned again.

“I’m fine,” Dean shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. The thing wasn’t improving the more he ate it. “Why?”

“Because you normally love Dunkin’ Donuts and would have inhaled it. It shouldn’t even have made it back to the room. And now you’re hearing things –”

“What?”

“The trickster laughing last night,” Sam started.

“That’s because the sonofabitch was laughing at us!” Dean interrupted.

“And now you claim that I snore?” Sam ploughed on. “Dean, I’m starting to think that –”

“Sammy, this is not up for discussion,” Dean paused for a moment before he ground out, “I. Am. Perfectly. Fine.”

Sam pursed his lips slightly in what Dean personally liked to called, ‘Sammy’s Gay Bitch Face.’ However Dean also knew what that meant. Sam might non-verbally give in, but he wasn’t going to let it rest until he got an answer satisfactory enough for him.

Goddamn it all to hell. Dean sighed and took another bite of his sandwich. He made a face, swallowed his current bite. Then he balled up the rest in its package and tossed it in the garbage can. Maybe it was just him, but that cheese tasted more like plastic with each progressive bite. As soon as possible, Dean was going to get something that tasted like real food.

He’d take the flak from Sam on that one willingly. Sam had already finished eating and was drinking his coffee while sitting on the side of the bed. Dean watched as Sam tugged on his socks one handed before jamming his feet into his sneakers. Once his shoes were on and he took another drink of coffee, Sam finally looked at Dean again.

“Which way do you think the trickster headed?”

“We have any way of knowing,” Dean shrugged. “We’ll just have to keep our ear to the ground. It could be awhile before we hear anything about a probable location. You know how these things just change locale like that.”

Sam nodded his head and finished his coffee. Dean knew Sam was still thinking about those things he had pointed out. So now Dean prepared to see the ‘Sammy Gay Bitch Face’ once more.

“If anything,” Dean shrugged and looked at Sam’s feet pointedly. “We could work on your lack of foot tan there Dracula.”

___________________________________________________________

The sharp acrid tang of rotted blood hit Jim’s nose like a sledgehammer. He made a face and covered his nose with a handkerchief. It took another second to concentrate and scale back on his sense of smell. Murders like this didn’t happen in Cascade. This poor bastard had been gutted open, viscera scattered about, but the lungs pulled out and over the shoulders. It looked like some vicious random killing, but there was something in the pit of his gut that told him it was something else.

The trick of the matter was proving that his gut was right.

“Jim, you okay?”

He looked up to find Blair walking towards him from the corpse, concern on the other man’s face. He nodded his head and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… the smell.” Jim gestured vaguely with a hand.

“Did you…?” Blair motioned around his nose.

Jim nodded. “It’s not so bad now. What do we have?”

“Male, African-American. Cause of death… well, I think that’s kind of obvious,” Blair sighed as he slipped the latex gloves off his hands. “He looks like he’s in his late 20s. I’m ballparking it at around 27. His name was Alan Twyuga. He had no priors and was a pillar of the community.”

“Chief, he must have done something,” Jim looked back at the body. “To somebody he shouldn’t have.”

“I’ll dig around, see what I can find.” Blair said. “If it’s not too bad, did you want to do your thing?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.” Jim agreed as he looked around.

“Okay. I’ll meet you back at the station. The medical examiner should be here in a bit so if you stick around, you’ll probably get more information.”

Jim watched as Blair walked off. It had surprised him how well the other man had taken to being a police officer. After the whole debacle with his paper on Sentinels, Blair had just wanted to disappear into anonymity. That had been seven years ago. While he was sure Blair would have landed on his feet, Jim was personally glad that Simon had backed him in offering Blair a position on the Cascade force. He had done a lot of good the three years he had been there as an observer.

Of course, Blair had to take a course in police foundations so he officially could be hired. Simon had wanted to play this one by the book. Jim suspected that the higher-ups could tell something was going on in Major Crimes but couldn’t put their finger on it. So Blair had joined Major Crimes pretty quickly, but in a more roundabout way.

But maybe that had been a good thing. Blair had spent a good amount of time in other departments. But when it quickly became obvious to others that Blair’s observational skills were quite useful, Simon already had the paperwork in motion to transfer Blair to Major Crimes. Vice hadn’t been too happy with them. Jim though Vice could go fuck themselves in all honesty. If Vice didn’t wear you down, then the corruption did. He and Blair had rooted out the corruption in their own Vice department, but there were times when Jim wondered when it would establish itself again. People tended to get funny around large amounts of money.

With a shake of his head, Jim started looking around his surroundings. It was an industrial warehouse. The place was big, enough to create an echo. That meant even if the victim had screamed, the noise would have faded as it travelled. It explained why the murder had taken place in the exact centre of the place.

He looked back at the corpse. There was a bloody gag around the man’s mouth, but it had partially slipped down to the chin. So the man had tried to free his mouth in order to make some noise and possibly get help. The blood on the gag was crusted on, but it seemed like the blood was radiating out from the mouth. Maybe the victim had bit his own tongue?

“Detective Ellison, do you need a pair of gloves?”

Jim glanced up to see Keith, the medical examiner, standing there with his case in hand. “Nah, just looking. I figured you would have gotten here before me.”

“Not with your lead feet,” Keith rolled his eyes as he placed the case down and opened it. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves while looking at the victim. “Man, this is insane.”

“Tell me about it.” Jim muttered. “Have you seen anything like this before?”

“You mean people having their chest ripped open, no I haven’t ever.” Keith frowned as he leaned in closer and inspected the bone. “This guy was ripped open… barehanded. Jesus Christ…”

“What?” Jim was sure he must have misheard.

“See here, along the remains of the sternum,” Keith pointed with a gloved finger. “The bone is ragged, but there is a visible indentation, where the bone is pushed in. The rest of the bone is just jagged in all directions, indicative that it wasn’t touched by a hand.”

Jim looked at where Keith had pointed. Sure enough there was an indentation. It was slight but it was there. When he glanced over to the other half of the sternum, there was a similar mark.

“How do you know he was ripped open bare-handed? There might have been a murder weapon.” Jim pointed out.”

Keith shook his head. “Visible indentations on the underside of the sternum. Here, look.”

Jim watched as Keith fished out a flashlight and shone it on the underside of the opposite sternum, closest to Jim. He got up and moved to the other side beside Keith and peered underneath. It was there, bloody and covered in gore, but imprints. Jim scowled as he looked at them. They were abnormally long and thin, but they were clearly fingers.

“How the hell did you see that?” Jim was more than a little peeved that the medical examiner spotted that before he did. But then again, Jim wouldn’t have thought to look at the inside of a ripped open rib cage.

“Prescription glasses have to be good for something else besides attracting the ladies.” Keith gave him a movie-star grade grin while pushing his glasses up on his nose a little bit. “I’m like Blair Underwood’s nerdy twin.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah, okay, so our victim was ripped open… by hand?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Keith paused for a moment. “It looks like… something punched through his sternum and then just ripped him open like he was a foil wrapper.”

“Something?” Jim pressed.

“Did you see those hand imprints? I’ve never, in all my years, seen a human hand like that. So you could be right Detective Ellison. We might have to find a murder weapon.”

“Lovely,” Jim stood up with a sigh. “I’m starting to think Chief got the better end of this.”

Keith laughed. “I’ll get started and let you two know as soon as I’m done.”

“Thanks.”

Jim stood back up and headed to the warehouse door. This case was not going to be easy. He sighed as he stepped outside. Then something odd wafted past him. It was a peculiar smell, one of earth mixed with…age and decay. With a frown, he breathed more deeply, trying to isolate which way the smell was coming from. The scent trail went from the warehouse door and around the side through the alley to a dead end. Jim frowned as he looked at the wall. Where the hell did the scent trail go? There was no sewer grate here or fire escape. That meant the only possible way to go was up. He looked at the wall again and just above his head, almost out of reach, was something that looked like a large patch of skin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ziploc bag. It wasn’t an evidence bag, but it would have to do for now.

He turned the bag inside out and stuck his hand in it before he grasped the skin and pulled it off the wall gently. It stuck a bit, but came off intact. He flipped bag back and headed out of the alley, sealing it. That scent was still sticking around. It seemed like it was the only thing he could smell now.

When he went back into the warehouse and gave Keith the skin before booking it out of there. That strange earthen smell was still there. By the time he got to the truck, it hadn’t dissipated. He got in and sat in the driver’s seat, scaling back on his sense of smell further. It didn’t do any good. Jim scowled and rested his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

It all happened in a second.

He was seeing a forest, the signs of death and destruction all around him. Whatever had caused it was still there, as was that peculiar earthen smell. But through the trees he could see a glimmer of something brownish. He walked closer, pushing aside the gossamer threads of spider webs. He tried to get closer, but he only managed a few feet. The spider webs were much thicker here and he couldn’t quite see through them clearly. It seemed like it was a bird of some sort, and the area around it was darker than usual. But it also seemed to be protecting the bird.

For all intents and purposes the bird seemed sick, just laying there listlessly. It seemed a bit on the thin side as well, slowly wasting away.

Suddenly Jim was aware of the darkness. It was looking at him, seemed to focus on him. It seemed to coalesce into a humanoid shape. The features were indistinct, but it was crouching protectively over the bird.

“Help him.”

The plea seemed to echo and reverberate around the dead trees surrounding them. The darkness didn’t do anything, just stayed there beside the bird, awaiting a response.

That was when the rap on the window brought Jim back to reality. He jerked up from the steering wheel and looked over. Blair was there, concern written all over his face. Jim rolled down the window as he rubbed at his face with his other hand.

“Hey Chief.”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Blair paused. “That didn’t seem like a zone-out.”

Jim didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “No, it wasn’t. It was a vision.”

“What did you see?”

“Let’s go grab some food. I’ll fill you in before we head back to the station.”

Blair nodded his head. “You lead and I’ll follow.”

“I don’t know how your car is still intact.” Jim shook his head as he started the engine.

Blair just grumbled as he made his way to his little four door sedan. Jim waited until Blair got in and started the car before he slowly pulled out. When he glanced in the rear-view mirror, Blair’s car was there right behind his. Jim turned his attention back to the road, trying to not think about his vision.

He somehow had a feeling that this would only get worse before it got any better.

___________________________________________________________

Almost three weeks had passed and Sam was seriously starting to worry now. Dean wasn’t sleeping at night anymore now. It was always during the day, with his shades on, leaving most of the day driving to Sam. The claims that he made an unholy racket snoring didn’t let up either.

But Sam noticed that new complaints were slowly added on. If Sam hadn’t been keeping track since that night they lost the trail of the trickster in Scranton, he seriously might be wondering when Dean had developed a prima donna attitude.

The motel sheets were far too scratchy and irritated Dean’s skin. Sam hadn’t believed it the first few times. But after that first night, Dean had developed a habit of scratching when his skin came into contact with an irritant. It was personally worrying to wonder if he’d wake up one more to find Dean frantically tearing off his clothes, screaming that they were tearing through his skin. That one morning when he woke up to find Dean viciously scratching his bare back against the door jamb had honestly scared the hell out of him. Dean’s back had looked red and splotchy. Sam had a sinking suspicion that Dean had been on the verge of breaking the skin. Even that probably wouldn’t have stopped Dean.

That had been the last time Dean wore a polyester blend shirt. Pure cotton seemed to be the only thing Dean liked to wear now. Sam didn’t know when he made the shopping trip, but he had woken up one morning to see Dean stuffing clothing into an army-issue style duffel bag, also made of cotton.

And then there was the change in Dean’s eating habits. If anyone had asked Sam what his brother preferred eating, Sam would have easily replied with, “Nothing with any nutritional value whatsoever.” Now… Dean was practically living on bread, water and what could only be called gruel. Oatmeal or cream of wheat or… whatever the hell he was concocting for himself in the mornings… it shouldn’t be that thin and watery looking.

The only problem was that it was progressing and Sam was at a loss of how to stop it.

He had wracked his head for the past week and had come up with one answer, this morning in the shower: Dean was somehow becoming hypersensitive.

It seemed like it was affecting everything. His sense of hearing must have been the first thing. It explained why he thought Sam was always snoring at night. And why he was constantly worrying about how the Impala engine sounded abnormal before he drifted off into a fretful sleep in the mornings.

Taste must have been the next thing to slowly go haywire. Why else would Dean have switched from overly processed foods to stuff that had almost no taste whatsoever?

Who knew what Dean’s sight was like, but considering that Dean wore the glasses all the time in the day… Sam was almost scared to ask.

Dean’s sense of touch was shot to all holy hell. All he was wearing pure cotton clothing. Sam was starting to worry that even just cotton would soon be too much to him.

And Sam was starting to think that Dean’s sense of smell was starting to be affected as well. He sometimes caught Dean wrinkling his nose at the scents of some things. Dean hadn’t said anything yet, but was only a matter of time.

Sam had to figure out what was causing it and what he needed to do to stop it. And that was the current reason why they had been at the same motel for the past three days in Chattanooga, Tennessee. The internet here was surprisingly good, and Sam would maximise it for as long as possible until he had to move them again. They’d probably stay here a week tops and then head north maybe.

A muffled sound made Sam look up from his laptop and to the bathroom. “You all right in there Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” There was a momentary paused before Dean added, “The water smells though. Like there’s too much metal in it or… something…”

“Is it bothering you?” Sam asked.

There was a long silence from the bathroom. Suddenly, Sam saw his afternoon disappearing as he boiled ridiculous amounts of purified water for Dean’s bath. After the incident when Dean tried to take a shower and bolted out from it, claiming that it felt like he was being riddled with bullets… well, showers were a thing of the past for Dean. Sam suspected that being immersed in water might actually be helpful to some degree. He couldn’t really tell though since everything he knew was simply from observation. There were times that Sam thought actually talking about how he felt was nothing less than anathema to Dean.

“No, I’m fine.”

Sam paused, listening for anything that didn’t sound right. Like water rapidly sloshing or something else out of place. But there was just silence from the bathroom.

“Okay.” Sam answered finally.

The seconds passed as Sam watched the bathroom door for a few more minutes before he looked back at the laptop screen. So far, everything he was finding wasn’t backing up his theory. And he needed something more concrete to work from in order to help Dean. He felt like banging his head in frustration against something. He felt like he was getting nowhere fast and –

His cell phone vibrated suddenly. He dug into his pocket, pulled it out and looked at the screen. The number was restricted. Sam could think of at least ten people that this could be. A quick glance towards the bathroom – not a sound coming from Dean… for once, thankfully – and Sam quickly stepped outside onto the landing before answering the phone.

“Hello?”

“This is Samuel Winchester, correct?”

Sam tensed almost automatically, trying to figure out where the danger was. This wasn’t a voice he recognised. “Who is this?”

“You need to take your brother to Cascade.”

“Cascade?” Sam echoed. It was difficult to keep the hard edge from his voice. How did this person know about what was happening to Dean? “What the hell is in Cascade?”

“Blair Sandburg. He can help. Google him if you don’t believe me.”

The line disconnected after that. Sam stared at his phone before he tucked it back into his pocket and went back into the room. He sat back down at his laptop, staring at the information that was entirely useless. It took ten seconds of him grumbling to himself before he typed ‘Blair Sandburg’ into Google. The search engine spat out results in less than three seconds. It seemed like Sandburg was some guy who was doing research into something called Sentinels. He had a paper that had caused a big fuss back in 1999 until he declared himself a fraud. After that, there was nothing of note really.

But Sam had a name and he could track him down that way. And look some more into this Sentinel mythology stuff. He wanted some sort of credible proof before he rushed Dean off to some city with information that might be spurious.

“Well, not so spurious…” Sam mumbled to himself as he worked. The Blair Sandburg thing seemed to be checking out.

It didn’t take long to find a listing for a Blair Sandburg in Cascade, Washington as well as a phone number. It also didn’t take long to find the address from the phone number. Sam scribbled down the information before he started researching on Sentinels.

Not that he got far.

He’d looked at the bathroom door, suddenly feeling a sense of disquiet. It had been entirely too quiet. No sound of water sloshing, no complaining from Dean, nothing. When he went to the bathroom to check, he felt fear stab him rapidly in the belly. There was blood curling through the water, Sam couldn’t see the cause from where he was standing. And Dean was completely submerged. He was moving faster than he thought possible, moving to the side of the tub and kneeling down. He banged his knees against the side, pain bursting against the caps, but he ignored it. He reached in and hauled Dean up. Shit, in the amount of time it took him to take a phone call and start checking it out, Dean could have drowned.

But Dean was gasping and coughing once he was up and Sam had to fight the urge to hug Dean tightly.

“Jesus Dean, what were you doing?”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long moment before he turned to look at Sam, eyes looking dull and glassy. “Sammy, I think something is wrong with me.”

That soft, barely heard whisper, this didn’t sound like his brother. It was honestly scaring Sam. Dean didn’t just readily admit anything until he was pretty much at the breaking point. But he just nodded his head and went with it.

“What’s wrong Dean?”

“Everything. It’s not so bad if I’m under the water. I don’t really hear anything, smell anything…”

This was bad. If Dean was submersing himself in the water in order to achieve some level of sensory deprivation…

“Dean, listen to me,” Sam managed to keep the panic from his voice as he whispered as loudly as he dared. “You need to focus on me. Ignore everything else. Just focus on me, don’t try to think about your other senses.”

There was a long moment of silence from Dean before he nodded his head and grasped the sides of the tub to haul himself up to a sitting position. That was when Sam saw the back of Dean’s left hand. It was scratched open, gaping and bloody. Dean looked at him suddenly.

“Your teeth.”

Sam hadn’t even realised he had started grinding his teeth together. He tightened his hands on the side of the tub. “Dean, did you scratch your hand?”

“… Felt like there was something crawling on it.”

“And now?” Sam pressed.

“Nothing really. It’s not as bad as it was.” Dean shrugged as he looked at his hand. “That is pretty bad.”

“Can you handle it being bandaged?”

“I’m going to have to.”

Dean slowly stood up and stepped out of the tub, water running down his legs from his underwear. Sam rose and followed after him. It was quiet in the room now as Dean silently pulled on his clothes and Sam set about prepping the first aid stuff. Dean sat down at the table, resting his injured hand on the top. Sam quickly dried it off and then disinfected it, touching Dean as gently as possible. When Sam started wrapping the bandage around Dean’s hand, Dean winced and inhaled sharply.

“Focus on me Dean,” Sam softly reminded him. “Just me, not on your hand.”

Sam watched as Dean nodded his head. There was no more wincing. When he was done, Sam started packing away the supplies once more. He turned around when done to find Dean still sitting at the table, looking at the bandage on his hand.

“Dean?” Sam asked after a moment.

“I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t. I can’t hunt like this Sammy,” Dean looked at his hand for a bit longer before he turned his attention to Sam. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Sam couldn’t even recall a time when Dean had looked at him like this: scared, confused and completely reliant on him. It had been the inverse for as long as Sam could remember. And suddenly, he had a new respect for all the times Dean had bitched and grumbled but solved the biggest problem in the world for a whiny eight year old sibling.

It was quite clear what Sam had to do.

“We’re leaving Chattanooga,” Sam said as he got up and started stuffing things into their duffel bags.

Dean nodded. “Why the hell are we leaving?”

“Because I’m taking you somewhere to get help.”

___________________________________________________________

Exhaustion was something familiar to Blair. But he’d been burning the midnight oil a lot for the past three weeks. There had been three more murders in the past three weeks. But so far there was no discernible motive behind the attacks. They’d managed to keep it under wraps while working frantically, but it was going to leak sooner or later.

Blair was personally hoping for the later that never came.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. It was the autopsy report on Tywuga and the other three victims. All killed the same way, mouths gagged, chest ripped open and lungs draped over the shoulder. Call him crazy, but when he saw Alan like that, his mind immediately went to early Germanic influences.

The blood eagle was a distinct sort of death. It had also fallen into disuse almost 1,000 years ago. Blair rubbed a hand over his face again and looked down at the paperwork that was still sitting on his desk, waiting to be read. The skin sample that Jim had found on the wall had finally been analysed. The results must have been in the report. Blair knew he should read it. But the missing connection between the victims was honestly driving him crazy. Of course it could be argued that was the connection, that there wasn’t one. There was no rhyme or reason to it. A young man from the rough side of town had nothing in common with a single woman living alone in an apartment on the other side of town. And neither did the other two unfortunate souls, a man out for a jog in the park one evening or a woman making a run for ice cream for her girlfriend.

“What is it Chief?”

Blair blinked and turned his attention to Jim. The other man was watching him from across their desks, with an expectant look. Blair opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. He gave Jim an apologetic look as he picked it up.

“Sandburg, Major Crimes unit.”

“Is this Blair Sandburg? In Cascade, Washington?”

Blair frowned. The person sounded anxious and a little stressed. “Yes, who –”

“You wrote the paper on Sentinels, right?”

“Yes, who is this?” there was no keeping the curiosity out of Blair’s voice.

“My name is,” there was a momentary pause. There was a muffled sound in the background that Blair couldn’t quite catch. “My name is… Sam Winchester. I need your help.”

“Well, I don’t know what you think I can help you with,” Blair started. “But –”

“It’s my partner. I think he might be one.”

“One?” Blair echoed. Surely this guy couldn’t be talking about…

“I read your paper. Stayed up all night. It’s explains everything. But I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything suggested in your paper for Guides and nothing is –”

“Hang on,” Blair lowered his voice slightly so the others around his desk wouldn’t hear him easily. “You read it all? And it’s still not helping?”

“No. I don’t know what else to do. I drove him here all the way from Chattanooga. I need you to help him.”

“How’s his mental state?”

“He’s still coherent and lucid. But it might only be a matter of time before…”

Blair paused for a moment. Jim was paying a bit too much attention to his paperwork. But Blair could care less at the moment. Another Sentinel being activated? What had prompted it? Was it something cultural or were there other factors at work that he didn’t know about? His hands felt a bit slick with excitement and he gripped the phone harder to keep it from slipping from his fingers. He didn’t look over at Jim, because Blair could practically see the waves of disapproval go flowing past him. The trick was to ignore it until he could bring Jim around to his side and make sure Jim wasn’t about to start tearing into people.

“He started coming online about a month ago.”

That was something surprising. Blair was a little bit surprised the situation wasn’t desperate yet. But it sounded like it was quickly heading that way.

“Okay, where are you?”

“At Second and Chaleston, Finch’s Inn. Room 333.”

“Okay. Stay put. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Blair hung up the phone and looked over at Jim. Those eyes were narrowed at him and Blair could practically see what Jim was thinking, etched onto that forehead.

“Look, it’s pretty straight forward.”

Jim was silent for a moment, watching as Blair got up from his chair and stretched. “No, it just sounds suspicious, that’s what.”

“Okay, so I go and check out his story. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Immediately, Blair knew he should have said something else. Those last six words were probably the most damning thing he could have said. Jim gave him a pointed look as he snagged his jacket from the back of the chair easily. Blair gave Jim his best look of innocence. Jim’s expression turned stony before he spoke.

“Yeah, that’s settles it all right.”

“What?” Blair couldn’t keep the defensive tone from his voice even if he tried.

“You’re almost always at the centre of trouble,” Jim was quiet for a moment before he started again with, “Remember the time you made a coffee run and you ended up in the middle of a hostage situation?”

To his credit, Blair didn’t wince. Just picked up his jacket and shrugged it on as he walked out of the office. So he’d gone on a coffee run one night. It wasn’t like he was expecting to turn away from the counter and find himself facing the muzzle of a gun. After that, and another slew of incidents, half of the department had taken to calling him ‘Lucky.’ Blair felt it was something of a misnomer. It didn’t account for half of the things that seemed to happen to or around him. And it certainly hadn’t been lucky at the time. When he glanced back, he saw Jim walking just behind him, a slightly smug look on his face. Blair looked back ahead, stifling his grumbles.

Seriously, he did not need Jim to follow him around like a babysitter.

That had been his first year on the force. Jim had followed him around so much, Blair was sure he could have gotten a restraining order on him. Three years as an observer had been proof enough to Blair to whip himself into shape. It hadn’t been that hard for him. And so when he took a police foundations course, he was already in top physical condition. He augmented the police training with martial arts.

Blair was more than capable of defending himself with a weapon – not that he liked his standard issue handgun all that much – or with his bare hands if necessary.

But as the months had passed, Jim had eased up. Except for a couple of times when something seemed to truly threaten both of them or Cascade. That’s was Jim’s excuse. Blair was more of the opinion that Jim, for some reason, got it into his head that Blair needed protecting and looking out for.

It almost made Blair want to shake Jim until he understood that Blair was a big boy. But Jim’s emotional constipation was legendary. Even Carolyn washed her hands on that front, deeming it a lost cause. And Blair couldn’t really complain. She did give him fair warning on that.

Blair looked up and realised he was in the parking lot, heading to his car. He hadn’t even noticed that he was on auto-pilot. He glanced around, Jim still behind him. When Blair got to his sedan, he unlocked the doors and got in. He was a little bit surprised to see Jim come up to the passenger’s side and get in as well. Blair paused and watched, ignition key in hand, as Jim closed the door and started doing up the seatbelt. It wasn’t everyday that Jim deigned to be seen in the ‘neo-hippie, jet pack fusion’ car that Blair owned.

“Okay, so Second and Chaleston?” Jim finally spoke.

“That’s what he said,” Blair started the car and smoothly pulled out of the space and then the parking lot. “Upper west side.”

Blair glanced at Jim, waiting for the inevitable comment. Jim was quiet for about thirty seconds. Blair did have to give him some credit.

“Rough neighbourhood.”

Jim’s voice was flat. Great, now Jim was borderline pissed. There was no winning today it seemed. There was no further conversation in the car. By the time they got to Finch’s Inn, Blair sensed an imminent conversation with Jim in the future. There’d be a lot of griping about Blair learning to not take people at face value… yet again.

Blair just found it very hard sometimes to think that people had an ulterior motive. True, he saw the worst that people could do sometimes. But if he didn’t focus on the good, he’d end up burnt out faster than he wanted.

The big sign with neon yellow words loomed up ahead in the distance. The parking lot was full, except for a spot beside a black car. Blair pulled into the spot and turned off the engine.

“You don’t need to come up with me you know.”

“Think again Chief.” Jim replied as he got out.

It was very hard to not make an audible sound of exasperation. Let Jim sense his irritation. It might speak volumes louder than words could. Blair got out of the car and squinted up at the motel. A flight of stairs connected all three.

“Might as well get this over with.” He mumbled as he started walking.

___________________________________________________________

 _‘This is hell, and I have no idea of how to escape.’_

The thought flitted across Dean’s mind as he stared up at the ceiling above the bathtub. The ceiling seemed to shimmer through the water when he shifted slightly. There was a plastic PVC tube in his mouth so he could breathe. The plastic curtain had been drawn and a cloth placed over the railing. The light was off in here and it was thankfully dim.

It was entirely undignified, but it was a haven.

At first he thought he was just hearing and seeing things. But it got worse and worse. He’d tried driving a couple of days after Sam first called him on ‘not being okay.’ Everything had been fine until he went for the turn off… that was nowhere near them yet and still about a mile up the way. Dean had managed to play it off but once they got to a motel, he dropped the keys into Sam’s hand and said he was driving next time, because obviously Dean was more tired than he realised.

It had been hard to fake sleep on a bed with sheets that felt more like sandpaper rather than any sort of decent fibre. But Sam had bought it and set things up before crawling into his own bed. After the fiasco of having to share beds, Dean would have rather slept on the floor than share a bed with Sam again willingly.

 _‘How the hell did Jessica manage it?’_

His thoughts were broken by the sound of the room door opening. He could hear Sam’s voice now, low and barely muffled by the water. Another voice spoke, oddly soothing, and was just as muffled as Sam’s. Dean paused for a moment, taking the pipe from his mouth and moistening his mouth before pursing his lips slightly and drinking a small amount of water. Once he swallowed, he slid the pipe back in and continued staring at the ceiling.

It was becoming harder and harder to not think about how his body was going haywire and making everything painful. The odd thing was that it still didn’t stop him from doing things that gave some relief. Like when he had scratched the back of his hand open. Compared to the sensation of having something crawling on his skin, scratching it had been a pleasure and a relief. It had been like a sort of madness had gripped him and he had continued scratching. After everything that was feeling painful, having something that felt good… well, he wasn’t about to pass that up. Even if there had been a bit of blood. It was only when he realised that he was basically gouging out bloody tracks in his hand that he stopped.

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice was muffled and a few seconds later, a corner of the shower curtain was pulled back. Sam appeared slightly distorted and his expression seemed set and determined. Dean sat up and took the tube from his mouth. Water ran in rivulets down from his hair and into his eyes. He blinked, wishing it didn’t feel like something slithering rapidly over his skin.

“Yeah?”

“I found someone who might be able to help you.” Sam paused. “They’re here now.”

“Alright.” Dean slowly rose from the tub, wishing that it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Sam silently held out a pair of pants and a shirt to him once he got out. Dean pulled them on over wet skin, ignoring the rasp of clothing. It felt like someone was scraping tiny bits of dull glass against his skin. The odd thing was now that Sam said help was here, Dean found that he didn’t particularly want it. He lingered by the bathroom door, watching as Sam went back out into the room. Truth be told, Dean knew he was acting like a childish idiot. But this was a response ingrained in him from childhood: depend only on your family and yourself.

 _‘Thanks Dad.’_

Dean had missed hunting, in all honesty. If this got him hunting again sooner, he’d willingly put aside whatever hang-ups he had to get back out there and kill some evil sonsofbitches. He could hear Sam talking again, asking for someone to wait a bit while Dean prepared himself. Better to walk out there under his power rather than having them come storming the bathroom in a panic. He walked out of the bathroom slowly, blinking rapidly as his eyes tried to adjust to the brightness of the room. It seemed almost luminescent and felt like it was searing his retinas.

Sam must have realised why he was just standing there and blinking like a fucking idiot. Dean almost made an audible sound of relief when Sam slid a pair of cheap black sunglasses over his eyes. It helped, but barely. Everything still seemed like it was ringed in a halo now, albeit with a peculiar brown color that cheap black plastic imparted. It wasn’t very heartening to see that the window drapes were closed. Fuck, it was really getting bad.

There was a rustling and Dean’s eyes shifted to see what caused it or rather who, in this case. A grim looking, tight-jawed man was leaning against the room door. His limbs were crossed and a scowl set firmly on his mouth. Oh yeah, someone really wanted to be here. If he were an animal, his hackles would be raised and he’d be one small step away from hurting people. The man flicked a look at him before making a ‘tch’ sound with a momentary curl of his lip.

Dean almost wanted to laugh. If he was in that guy’s position, he’d probably be doing something damned similar. Maybe acting less than an asshole, but hey, crazier things had happened.

Another glimmer of motion came from the corner of his eye and he turned his whole head to see the cause. There was a man standing beside the bed now. A shallow, rising indentation on the bed blanket told Dean that the man had been sitting only seconds before. His face seemed honest and genuine enough. He had his hair long and bound back out of the way, nothing like the other man’s close cropped hair. This guy didn’t do anything that frequently placed himself in harms way. There was a slightly hippie vibe about the guy however. Something that said he was all about believing in people and their capacity for good. And maybe… and Jesus Christ, he was recognising way too many tiny details. Reading people had been a necessary skill for his survival, but this seemed to be a whole new level of ridiculous.

“Hi, my name’s Blair Sandburg,” the man with the long hair smiled as he gestured to the man leaning against the door. “This is my partner, Jim Ellison.”

Discontent mumbles came from Jim now. Blair pointedly ignored it, and Dean wondered how long they had been together.

“I understand you’ve been having difficulties.”

Dean stared at Blair for a long moment before he said, “That’s how you’d describe this fucking hell? Difficulties?”

A sharp bark of amused laughter came from Jim. There was an amused smirk on Jim’s face now, and some of his tension vanished as he straightened his body and relaxed his limbs. Blair turned to glare at him for a moment before he looked back.

“I guess ‘difficulties’ is a bit of an understatement. Jim checked himself into a hospital though,” Blair’s voice held a hint of sly insinuation. “And you’ve been coping by yourself for about a month?”

When Dean just silently nodded his head, Blair’s eyebrows went up, as did Jim’s. Blair seemed intrigued by this, his brows furrowing in thought. Dean was seeing a strange dynamic emerging here, but he wasn’t too sure what to make of it.

“What were you doing when you first noticed something strange?”

Dean glanced at Sam. Shit, this was going to require a cover story and he didn’t have anything planned. Sam just jumped right in and Dean had a suspicious feeling that he was winging it.

“We were working undercover. Classified case,” Sam began. “It started when Dean swore he heard our perp laughing as he escaped. I heard nothing. It just progressed from there. Once I realised Dean couldn’t work the case anymore, I had us pulled off and had someone else reassigned. We’re inactive until his… condition, clears up.”

“But it was a high stress situation?”

“I think we’ve safely established that Chief.” Jim chipped in.

“Just making sure,” there was an acerbic edge to Blair’s words. “You’re the only other one I’ve seen. And no, we’re not counting Alex and you know why.”

“Fair enough.”

Jim’s shrug seemed surprisingly nonchalant. Their interaction was mildly confusing. Jim had come in bristling of macho defensiveness and Blair had been quiet enough. Now, Blair was practically walking all over the man, and the even more confusing part was that Jim was letting him. Sometimes married couples were like that. Maybe these two were married? Actually, that would have explained a hell of a lot. Especially that weird way they had of speaking. While he hadn’t seen it yet, Dean was sure that they probably finished one another’s sentences. Hell, they already knew precisely what the other was thinking and their response. Ugh, damned invasion of privacy was what it was. Trying to figure it out would probably give Dean a headache. Jim and Blair were gay married, end of the story. And thus he preserved his sanity for a little bit longer.

“Okay, we’re going to try something,” Blair looked at Dean intently. “I want you to close your eyes.”

Dean looked to Sam for a moment, head tilted. Sam just nodded his head, lips pressed thin. Dean wasn’t an idiot. Sam was doing a damn good job of keeping his anxiousness and panic in check. Making a small sound of agreement from the back of his throat, he closed his eyes. He evened out his breathing until it was slow, deep and regular. Dean didn’t normally do shit like this, but putting himself as close to a trance as possible might achieve better results. And if these two guys tried anything, Sam had his back. Well against the fuzzy little hippie at least. Jim would be that one who might give Sam a run for his money.

He concentrated on breathing, feeling the air come rushing in through his nose and down into his lungs. When he exhaled it was like feeling a small, tolerable compression. In and out, in and out. It was soothing and nearly as relieving as being submerged in water. There was a vague sound that reached his ears now, but it sounded like it was far away and not an immediate threat. He continued to focus on his breathing and it was only when he felt hands on his face that he slowly opened his eyes.

“Dean?” his face was held in Sam’s hand. Sam was looking at him intently, panic barely held back now. “Are you back?”

Dean blinked rapidly for a moment, against the glare from the window, before he closed his eyes. But he nodded his head. Everything seemed to come screeching back to the forefront. The blindingly bright light from the window, it made the skin of his eyelids glow red. There was a slightly musty smell to their room intermingled with the scents of male sweat, musk and testosterone. He could hear a myriad of noises from the street, of cars driving, of people walking and talking, of doors opening and closing.

And he could feel Sam’s hands against his skin. The pressure felt like Sam was trying to pop Dean’s head between his hands, even though Dean knew that wasn’t the case. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, adding a fresh sensation of pressure and pain bursting along the seam of his eyelids. His head started to throb and ache from the continuous feed of so much constant information. It pounded and assaulted his brain. It didn’t help that he was trying to process it all and it was proving to be way too much for him to handle.

Dean opened his eyes and blinked once. The blinding light was back, as was Sam’s concerned face right in front of his. Blair and Jim were fuzzy looking shapes now, almost melding with the bright light.

“I can’t do it Sammy.” Dean’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

Puzzlement flashed through Sam’s eyes before realisation sank in. That was the last thing Dean saw before everything shifted and then went black

___________________________________________________________


	2. Chapter 2

In all honesty, Jim was feeling like a top-class asshole. He had been expecting a scam of some sort. But when Dean had come out of the bathroom, taking small steps and doing his best to see… well, Jim felt for him. The kid had been dealing with his senses going haywire for a month. Jim had checked himself into a hospital after a few days. Dean had a slightly wild eyed look to him. His brother, Sam, was doing his best to cope. The only problem was that Dean was past the point of responding. Sam was clearly at his wit’s end.

He also hadn’t been expecting Dean to pass out. That had startled Blair and Jim had been treated to the rare sight of Blair swearing like a sailor. Sam had caught Dean and laid him down on the bed. Blair has spent an entire ten seconds mumbling to himself before saying they were leaving for somewhere else and then hurried from the room. Sam was currently sitting on the side of the bed, stretching and curling his fingers. Jim could hear the slight popping of the knuckles. He finally leaned off the door and walked over to the other bed, sitting down. Sam looked at him for a moment before he glanced at Dean before he started moving his fingers once more.

“He’ll be okay. We’ll do what we can.” Jim finally said.

Sam looked at him and gave a faint smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “This is a first.”

“Him fainting?”

“I don’t think he’d say it that way,” Sam made a face before he said, “Probably that he passed out from lack of blood or something else less girly.”

Jim couldn’t fight the curl of amusement that came to his mouth. “I’m sure Chief’s got –”

The door to the motel was opened fairly quietly but quickly. Blair came back in looking intent. That was a look that said Blair had a plan and knew precisely what needed to be done. That was something Jim could understand and would do. Given Dean’s reaction…

“Where are we headed Chief?” Jim asked as he rose from the bed.

“The cabin up in Three Fingers,” Blair looked a bit frazzled. “You know how to get there, right?”

“Yeah,” Jim dug in his pocket for his keys before he remembered they came in Blair’s car. “You have your keys?”

Blair nodded his head and dug them out of his pocket before tossing them over. Jim caught them easily before he looked at Sam. Sam already had a bag slid out from under the bed. He stood up and slung it over his shoulder. Blair went over to Dean and between him and Sam they hoisted him up. Jim watched, waiting until they had Dean in a good, supportive grip before he opened the front door fully for them. It was a little bit awkward, but then again, moving someone who was completely unconscious was never fun. It would have been easier to move a sack of wet concrete. But they slowly managed to move Dean. Jim walked in front of them, making sure that no one was in the way.

Not that it mattered, since the motel seemed empty. They got down to the parking lot without incident and Jim helped them stretch Dean out on the back seat of their car. Sam got into the driver’s seat without so much as a word. Jim gestured to Blair and then at the passenger’s seat of Sam’s car. Blair looked at him hesitantly.

“I don’t know man,” Blair finally said quietly. “He’s really wound up about this.”

“All the more reason you should ride with him,” Jim paused. “You can talk him through what needs to be done. Because right now –”

“He’s trying to not be scared senseless.”

Blair gave a long-suffering sigh before he walked over to the passenger side of the black car and got in. Jim got into the driver’s seat of Blair’s car. Once he adjusted the seat and started the car, he slowly drove out of the parking lot. The black car pulled out smoothly and followed behind him. They only made one pit stop at the grocery store. And it basically consisted of him and Blair running in and dumping a whole bunch of things into a cart and checking them out as quickly as possible. Self-checkout was a thing of beauty in Jim’s opinion.

They’d piled the bags in Blair’s car and set off again. The sounds of the city slowly dropped away as they went higher up into the mountains. The drive up to Three Fingers was long and slower than ever. Officially there was no car path into the region from Mt. Baker National Park. But Jim had spotted an overgrown trail left from park vehicles one day when out hiking. Navigating Blair’s tiny little sedan onto that trail hadn’t been fun. Once they got back, Jim would have to start working on convincing Blair to get a vehicle more capable of going into places like this.

By the time they got to the small cabin, the sun was sinking low in the sky. Jim killed the engine and got out. From behind, the engine growl of Sam’s car was cut off a few seconds later. The only thing that could be heard now was the chirp of birds throughout the trees. Blair got out of the car and gestured to him. Jim knew what that meant. No way was Blair carrying Dean this time around. He went to the passenger side and managed to, somehow, slide Dean out and arrange him on his back, piggy-back style. Sam was just sitting in the car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. That look was familiar to Jim: Sam was rapidly reaching the breaking point. Jim managed to free one hand and quickly rapped his knuckles against the glass. Sam looked over at him, startled, before he got out of the car.

“Sorry, just thinking…” Sam mumbled as he went to the back seat and grabbed duffel bags from the back seat floor.

Jim just nodded his head and followed Sam in. The cabin was a temporary haven used by the park rangers when they were in the area for surveying. They’d last surveyed this spot only last week. Sam could hole up here with Dean and not worry about being caught for awhile. This spot’s remote location would hopefully work. The less external stimulus there was for Dean to process, the easier it would be for him to adjust.

The cabin was small, but it had decent sized living room and kitchen. There was a hallway, with three doors spread out down the length. One must have been the bathroom, the other two the bedrooms. Sam quickly walked ahead of him and opened one of the doors. Sure enough there was a neatly made bed inside, as well as a small dresser. Jim eased Dean down on the bed and Sam made sure he was comfortable. It wasn’t hard to silently leave the room and give Sam a minute alone with Dean. Dean was still out like a light but Sam sure as hell needed it. He went and joined Blair in the kitchen. There was a small fridge and a stove and he started to help put the groceries away.

“Did you talk to him?” Jim’s voice was soft as he started on the pastry bag.

Blair nodded his head. “Yeah. He knows how to help him now. I think it might be a good thing that Dean passed out.”

“A good thing?” Jim repeated. He wasn’t seeing how that was a good thing at all.

“Okay, remember, uh, Alex… in the grotto.”

“Yeah.” It was kind of hard to forget the only other Sentinel you met talking about being one with the planet and all its inhabitants. Or something like that. Jim still wasn’t sure after all these years.

“Dean’s somehow managed to keep borderline control of his senses. But I think today was finally too much for him, so he just shut down.”

“So… he’s rebooting?” Jim tossed the bag of bread on top the fridge before he opened the cupboard and started on the cans.

“I guess you could say that. See, you and Alex, you both had help pretty soon. It’s all been building up for Dean. I’m just wondering what sort of situation he was in that triggered his Sentinel abilities.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think asking two undercover cops that kind of question works,” Jim paused, looking at a can of chili for a moment before putting it away. “Probably has something to do with the case they were working on.”

“Probably.” Blair agreed.

They were quiet until all the groceries were put away. Jim stuffed all the other bags into one before he glanced back at the bedroom door. It was still slightly ajar. A quick motion from Blair had him looking back. Blair mouthed, ‘Are they talking?’ Jim pulled a face but turned up his hearing. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but Sam had been in there awhile now. He could hear the slow and steady thump of a heart. It was overlaid with one that was beating out a frantic staccato. There was breathing too, slow and steady along intermingled with harsh and rapid. Dean was still unconscious and Sam was having a quiet panic attack.

Blair looked over at him and Jim shook his head. Sam definitely needed to be alone. He and Blair were leaving now. He looked about until he spotted a pad of paper and a pen on the coffee table. He scrawled out a quick note, left it on the kitchen counter and then motioned to Blair. The long-haired man fell in step beside him.

Once they were outside and in the car, Blair looked at him. “How is Sam doing?”

“Panicking.” Jim replied as he started the car and put it in reverse.

“What? Are you crazy man? We have to get back in there and give him a hand!” Blair looked ready to jump out and run back into the cabin.

“Not a good idea Chief.” Jim braced his right hand against Blair’s headrest and steered with his left as he looked out the back window. “Sam’s more than capable of handling this on his own. I don’t think having us interfere will help.”

Blair opened his mouth to protest once more. But then he snapped it shut, looking pensive. Jim knew he was probably thinking it. So he might as well beat Blair to the punch.

“Remember with Alex? How you were going on about mating rituals and all that other new-age bullshit?” Blair glared at him but it vanished when he saw the grin on Jim’s face. Sometimes, it was so easy to yank Blair’s chain. “Look how well that turned out. What do you think is going to happen with two male Sentinels in the same enclosed area?”

“Armageddon?” Blair suggested.

“Funny. Real funny,” Jim said as put both hands back on the wheel, put the car in drive and started down the trail. “Honestly, they’re better off alone.”

“Yeah, okay, but –” Blair started.

“And we’ll be back as soon as we can to check up on them, all right?” Jim glanced over at Blair.

“Yeah, that works. Okay.”

Jim shook his head with a snort of amusement. “You’re welcome mother.”

___________________________________________________________

Sam never panicked. It never did any good, just led to bad decisions. But as he sat here on the bed, looking down at Dean’s unconscious face… well, he was panicking. His heart felt like it was hammering against his ribcage and his breathing had increased until it was borderline hyperventilation. He didn’t try to get up, didn’t go back out to the living room. Sam had no idea of how he would react if he went back out there and saw Jim and Blair. And the last thing he wanted to show those two was a person slowly cracking to bits.

He had heard Jim and Blair walk out, close the front door and then the crunch of tires against gravel as they left in the sedan.

Still he sat there on the bed, looking at Dean.

Blair had told him what to do during the drive up here. Had gone over what he should do, emphasising that they were guidelines only and that each Sentinel was different. Then Blair grabbed his cell phone and punched in about three different numbers he could be reached at. The cell phone was currently in his pocket, and it felt like it was burning a hole there. A part of him wanted to call back Jim and Blair, tell them to deal with it, because Sam didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He’d spent a month watching Dean deny that something was wrong with him while slowly going to pieces because of it. It had slowly eaten away at Sam until he felt like a hollow shell working on auto-pilot.

The only problem now was when Dean woke up. Sam would have to interact with him. Actively start helping him. Sam was entirely scared that his first reaction would be to hug Dean and just start crying. There, he said it. And that would the last thing that Dean would want because anything that touched his skin would feel far too abrasive. Not to mention the girly factor of infinite that gesture would entail. Dean would never let him live it down.

But he would do this. How many times had Dean just sucked it up and done what needed to be done? Sam could, and would, do this. Sitting here in the growing dark, and wondering what the hell to do was stupid. He had been told how he could help Dean, how the isolation of the area would be an asset and help Dean recover faster.

So that’s what precisely he would do. He would suck it up and do what needed to be done. Besides, if Dean found out that Sam had a panic attack over this, he would never hear the end of it and the ‘Princess’ jokes would resume full force for a couple of weeks. Last time that had happened, Sam had been on the verge of slugging Dean for it when Dean had stopped.

Sam forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He could gradually feel the calm spread through him. He could do this. Once he felt his heart slow down, he slowly got up. He stripped off Dean’s pants and shirts and, after a moment of thought, his underwear too. The air was still warm enough to not have to worry about covers. And when Dean woke up the first thing he might do was make a beeline for the bathroom to spend some time under water. The less Dean had to strip off the better.

Grabbing his duffel bag, he tossed it in the other room and walked into the kitchen. He spotted a piece of paper on the counter and picked it up.

 

  


 

Sam felt immensely gratefully that they hadn’t tried to stick around. He fixed himself something to eat and sat on the couch. For all intents and purposes, the bowl might as well have been filled with ashes. Sam didn’t taste anything and it seemed to clog going down his throat. Once he managed to choke down some food, he turned his attention to the room. There were a couple lamps scattered about. He got up and turned one on. Nothing at all. Frowning, he tried to turn on other things before realising there was no power.

“Must be a generator out in the back.” He mumbled as he went to the bedroom and grabbed a torch from his duffel bag.

The generator in question was out in a shed in the back. Thankfully, there were spare canisters of gas and it didn’t take long to fill it up and get it running. At least the machine was quiet. He’d have to make sure that he asked Blair to bring in some gas when he and Jim came back. The lamps glowed in the window and lit the ground enough for Sam to kill the torch. When he got back inside, he dug out the package of salt from his duffel bag and started laying down salt lines at every possible entrance point. Once that was done, he left the salt package on the kitchen counter and headed back into the living room. Then he noticed a small bookcase in the living room, tucked into a corner.

Picking out a book, he stretched out on the couch and started reading. Anything that distracted him was welcome and preferred to simply lying there with his thoughts.

Sam couldn’t say with any certainty at what time he nodded off. But what did wake him finally were a couple of things. Firstly was the chirp of birds and, once he took the book off his face so he could see, that light grey colour the sky took before the tendrils of pink dawn crept through. The second was the ache in his back that said he really shouldn’t have slept on the couch. He’d probably curled up and didn’t stretch back out in the middle of the night. Thirdly, the sound of Dean’s footsteps moving almost silently up the hallway reached his ears. Sam was pretty sure it only did because the floor was creaky in some places.

He rolled off the couch and stumbled up the hall, trying to quickly rub the sleep away from his eyes. When he got to the bathroom, he had to blink and let his eyes acclimatise to the darkness. Dean could probably see perfectly fine and Sam had no intention of blinding Dean with the innocent flip of a light switch. From what he could see, Dean was reaching down to turn on the taps and fill the tub. Going right for the sensory deprivation, first thing in the morning? That wasn’t a good sign.

“Dean?” Sam ventured, voice rough.

“Don’t yell.”

Dean’s voice was soft, barely heard. Sam took a deep breath. Well, this was go time. Now or never.

“Dean, I need you to look at me. I need you to focus on me.”

Sam had lowered his voice as much as he dared. Dean made a sound of relief, and Sam really wished he could see the expression on Dean’s face. He felt like he was working blind in far too many different aspects. He walked forward, hand reaching out, until he bumped into the side of the tub. He sat down on the lip, angling his body towards Dean.

“You need to concentrate,” Sam kept his voice low and modulated. “Which sense is bothering you the most?”

“Everything frigging hurts when it touches me.” Dean sounded aggravated and aggrieved.

“Okay, we’ll work on that first. You’ll need to concentrate, remember that Dean,” Sam paused. “I’m going to take your hand.”

“Excuse me?” Dean’s whisper sounded incredulous.

Before Dean had a chance to properly insult him and make a comment about doing something, ‘so unmanly it wasn’t even funny,’ Sam leaned forward slightly and took Dean’s hand in his. A sharp hiss of pain came from Dean, but Sam didn’t relinquish his hold.

Dean ground out, “I’m going to kill you” but he didn’t move his hand. Maybe that was half the battle right there.

“Concentrate Dean,” Sam urged. “Focus on what my skin feels like.”

There was a moment of silence from Dean before he spoke. “A bit dry. Calluses on your fingertips and at the bases of your fingers. Large knuckles… I can feel the bone underneath the skin in between them. They’re long and smooth. The ridges around your fingernails are a bit torn, but your nails are smooth…”

Sam didn’t say anything as Dean continued, his fingertips skimming over the respective areas he talked about. It took a couple of seconds, but Sam eventually heard the concentration in Dean’s voice. By the time Dean was finishing up, he had his thumb against Sam’s palm and his other four fingers were splayed over the back of Sam’s hand.

“Tendons, muscles and bone,” Dean was quiet for a moment as he ran his thumb over the heel of Sam’s hand as well as his wrist. “Your skin is soft here. I can feel veins as well and dude, you have some knobbly wrist bones.”

“Dean,” Sam was so, so reluctant to do it but he had to. “Does it hurt anymore?”

By now the sun had rose enough to let some light in through the bathroom window. Sam could just make out Dean’s face. His brother’s eyes widened slightly as he looked down at their hands and then up at Sam.

“It doesn’t.” Dean’s whisper cracked a bit. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Sam grasped his hand tightly and Dean did the same. There was a look of profound relief in Dean’s eyes and it showed in every line of his body as he loosened up in a subtler manner than Sam realised. Dean stood up quickly and Sam hastily got to his feet as well. And before Sam could say or do anything, Dean pulled him into a tight hug. Sam hugged him back just as tightly. Thank God, Dean was going to be okay. It would take some doing, but he had started and that was something at least.

Then, after a few more moments, Sam became acutely aware of Dean’s junk pressing against his thigh. Right, Sam had stripped him naked last night. As much as he was for the getting closer to his brother and communicating more, there were some things that shouldn’t be known. Case in point: what your brother’s junk felt like when pressed against your thigh. Dean stepped back a few seconds later and turned to shut the taps off. Some of the anxiousness Sam had been carrying around for the past month dissipated a bit at seeing Dean perform a simple act and not wince in pain.

“Do you know how good it is to touch something and not feel like screaming in pain?” A wide grin split Dean’s face now.

“Great?” Sam ventured.

“Yeah! I can totally jack off again now!”

“Dude,” Sam stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. “That is way more than I needed to know.”

Dean turned to leave the bathroom. Sam exited after him, closing the door. When Dean just marched back into the bedroom and crawled beneath the covers of the bed, Sam stopped and leaned against the doorframe. He had to ask.

“Dean, it’s gotta be almost seven in the morning. You’re going back to sleep?”

“I haven’t exactly been sleeping very well lately. And the only reason why I woke up is because the cover felt like it was stabbing me.”

Sam looked at the cover in question. It was a quilt of some sort and looked warm enough. He should not be judging.

“So I am going to go back to sleep and wake up when I damned well feel like it.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded his head as he pushed off from the doorframe. “I’ll be hanging around –”

“Watching porn on your laptop.”

God, Sam had actually missed this. The jokes, the finishing of sentences, the ribbing of one another... He just grinned and grasped the doorknob.

“Night Princess.”

Dean’s answer was to fling one of the pillows on the bed at him. Sam ducked it with a laugh and it crashed against the hallway wall. Sam looked back in the room to see Dean wincing slightly.

“Was totally worth it.” Dean muttered.

Sam had to agree as he tossed the pillow back inside and closed the door. Again, something else Dean could never know.

___________________________________________________________

The chirp of birds woke Dean up. It sounded a little bit on the loud side, but he didn’t mind. It felt like it had been ages since he woke up in a bed and not a torture device. He lay there, enjoying the feel of the soft-worn sheets against his skin. He probably would have stayed in bed all day. Sam seemed to have other ideas however. Dean could hear Sam come walking from the living room and up the hall, nearly quiet steps interspersed with creaking floorboards. It came to a stop right in front of the bedroom door before a very soft knock came and the door was eased open.

Sam poked his head around and whispered, “Are you up Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean sat up, looking around the room. “Slept like a baby last night. And dude, I am so looking forward to taking a shower.”

Sam just gave him that slightly lopsided grin. “You up for breakfast?”

“Sounds good.” Dean yawned before he scratched the back of his head.

“‘kay then. Don’t take too long.”

Sam’s head disappeared back and he closed the door behind him. Dean sat on the bed, listening to Sam’s footsteps head back to the living room… no, kitchen if the gentle clang of pots was any indication. He went over to his duffel bag and dug around for some clothes and bath stuff. By the time he started down the hallway, he could hear the sound of metal scraping against metal and smelled something distinctly floury. There was some cinnamon and… was that apples he smelled? Frowning, he entered the bathroom and shut the door. With what he had been eating lately, cinnamons and apples were about as exotic as Indian food.

But then again, Dean would have killed to eaten a cow with what he had been eating lately. There was only so much gruel one man could take. If he started losing muscle mass, this would be a serious problem. He tried to not think about it as he turned on the taps and then the shower. He failed. Maybe Sam would have some ideas about what to do. All Dean could think about was taking a couple of tough cases and chowing down on steak until he was sick and tired of it.

Once the water warmed up enough, he turned on the shower, stepped under the spray and snapped the curtain shut. The water pounded on his head, soothing in the repetitive vibrations it caused. It ran down his face, over his shoulders, down the length of his torso, across his legs and over his feet before hitting the bottom of the tub. It honestly felt like he was taking a shower for the first time. He must have lost track of time just standing there because he suddenly heard hurried footsteps and a sharp knock on the door.

Funny, sounds still weren’t as loud as they had been a couple of days ago.

“Food’s gonna get cold!” Sam’s voice sounded sharp, like he was trying to not yell.

“Coming!” Dean hollered.

There was a pronounced silence from both him and Sam. He had just yelled. And it hadn’t left him holding his head between his hands, nearly passing out from the pain.

“Dean.”

Oh no, Dean was not having the conversation he knew was coming while he was in the damned shower. “Sammy, can this wait a bit? Rather not get soap in my eyes.”

There was no response from Sam and then, “Well… just hurry it up Dean.”

“Yeah yeah.” Dean replied as he grabbed the bar of soap.

He quickly dragged the soap through his hair and scrubbed it before turning his attention to the rest of his body. When he finally felt clean, he killed the shower and stepped out. He hurriedly towelled himself off and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. When he got to the living room, Sam was sitting on the couch, two plates of pancakes and a bottle of syrup on the table. Dean eyed the plates as he sat down on the couch as well. Sam shifted, resting his elbows on his knees. Oh yeah, this conversation was happening before they ate. He could feel his stomach churning, demanding to be filled. Dean felt mildly disappointed because those pancakes smelled damned good.

“You yelled at me.” Sam finally started.

Dean had the perfect reply. He really did. But he glanced at Sam and it dried up on his tongue. He just shrugged and picked up the plate. He could eat and talk. Anything to stop the churning in his stomach would be happily eaten. Sam reached forward and put the plate back on the table. Dean made a sound of disgust, threw up his hands and flopped back against the couch.

“Starve me why don’t you.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Dean, you have to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t. You can’t act like it’s going to just go away. You can’t. It’s who you are.”

“Who I am?” Dean sat up a bit, brows furrowed. That seemed a damned odd thing for Sam to say. “What do you mean, who I am?”

“Did you know Dad called me once when I was at Stanford,” Sam said after a moment’s thought. “I think he might have been drunk. But he was talking about some gwyllion you hunted down. Said you just knew what to do and where to go, like you were gifted or something.”

Dean remembered that case. The damned thing had tried to slip through his fingers. But he could hear it scuttling about with that strange telltale sound it made. Ramming an iron dagger through that thing’s heart had been one of the most satisfying things he’d done.

“Anyway, Dad said the weird part was that he couldn’t hear a damned thing, so he was really glad to have you along.”

“Dad said that?” That surprised Dean a little bit. It seemed like John always found something to pick at.

Sam nodded his head. “I thought it was Dad just pulling my leg, you know. But he kept talking. Told me about a slew of others things you had done that he could never have done. Said he just couldn’t figure out what you might be.”

A chill ran down Dean’s spine at those words. Dad had thought he was some sort of… thing? Sam must have been able to read his expression since he shifted his entire body to face him.

“Dean, you’re not some sort of monster. You’re a Sentinel.”

“A Sentinel?” Dean repeated slowly, as if testing out the word.

“Yes. A Sentinel was, is, a person who protected the tribe. They had heightened senses that helped them.”

“So I’m like a…” Dean cast about for something. “A demented Power Ranger?”

Sam made a face. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I thought Blair was crazy when he said that you were a Sentinel. But the more he talked, the more he was making sense.”

“Blair? Is he that guy with the long fuzzy hair that came to the motel with the hit man?” Dean reached for the pancakes again.

“Hit man?” Sam frowned in confusion before he asked, “You mean Jim?”

“Sure. I wasn’t exactly all there when they came,” Dean picked up the fork only to have Sam snag it and the plate from him. “Sammy, you’re killing me here. I’m starving.”

“And for all we know, you’ll just spit out the pancakes. I know you. You’ll stuff your face first and then wonder why it feels like you’ve ingested poison.”

There were times that Dean hated it when Sam was right. He sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Maybe when you fixed the touch thing, hearing was included.”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s entirely possible. You did pass out. Your body might be auto-tuning as a response. When you manually use a sense, the others are self-adjusting.”

“Problem solved,” Dean sat up. “Pancakes?”

Sam gave him a look. “Did any one of your senses seem… off this morning compared to how they’ve been for the past month?”

“Oh you mean besides my hearing?” Dean replied a bit patronisingly.

Sam gave him that pissy gay bitch face again. Dean wanted to sigh aloud. His poor pancakes were the rapidly cooling casualty of Sam’s determined questioning. But he could see where Sam was heading with this. He got up from the couch and headed for the front door. He only opened it a crack and looked out. The light didn’t seem overly bright. Most importantly, it didn’t feel like it was trying to stab his eyes out with pins. He opened the door and stepped outside slowly. The sun was up, casting dappled light through the trees. All in all it was a gorgeous day. He breathed in deeply and he could smell earth, something he thought was water, and just fresh, clean air. He closed the door and headed back to the couch.

“Well?” Sam asked.

Again, Dean hated it when Sam was right. But Dean could admit that Sam was right. And this was one of those times. Falling back into old habits and patterns weren’t going to help.

“It’s better. Not as bad as it was before. Maybe that auto-thing kicked in.”

If Dean hadn’t been looking at Sam, he would have missed the flash of surprise in his eyes. Yeah, so Dean was a bit of a stubborn ass sometimes. That didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of change. It more like he would try, forget and then fall back into old habits. That wasn’t exactly helpful right now. He and Sam would actually have to talk. But so long as there was no crying, then Dean could do that. Sam… well, Sam he wasn’t too sure about.

Hell, Sam drank those gayer-than-gay mocha-frappa-latte-espresso concoctions whenever he damned well could. Dean still couldn’t see what was wrong with a plain old coffee.

But Sam seemed happier with a much more concrete answer now. He picked up the plate and handed it to Dean. Dean took it, licking his lips as he grabbed the fork. This was gonna be –

“Take a tiny bite.”

“You intentionally starve me and then tell me to take a tiny bit?” Dean stared at Sam like he was an idiot. “Dude, if a guy’s been in a desert with no water for ages, do you take him to an oasis and tell him to drink a cupful?”

“… That was surprisingly profound Dean.”

“I can be deep,” Dean glanced at Sam and caught the amused grin that threatened to break out. “Shut up.”

But he took a tiny bite as ordered. He focused on the fluffy bit of tastiness he had tried. Tiny bite his ass. He need almost all of that pancake in his mouth as soon as possible. He could taste the cinnamon and the apples he had smelled this morning. Butter as well, and it seemed like some had been smeared on the tops of the pancakes. There was vanilla and almond as well as a couple other spices he could taste, but damned if he knew the names.

“Okay, I can tell you all about the fluffy goodness… never thought I’d say that in a sentence, and about the,” Dean paused looking up at the ceiling as he counted. “Six… no seven spices you used in these pancakes. But I am hungry.”

And with that Dean cut off a huge hunk with the fork and shoved it in his mouth before Sam could ask anything else. It tasted like sweet, sweet manna. He inhaled the rest of his pancakes while eyeballing Sam’s. With a laugh, Sam slid his pancakes on Dean’s plate and got up.

“Hey,” Dean managed around a mouthful of deliciousness. “You gonna make me some more pancakes?”

“Sure Dean.” Sam said as he started taking things out of the cupboards once more.

“Pancakes, bitch!” Dean crowed before digging into Sam’s.

Sam’s comeback of “Jerk” sounded far too amused.

___________________________________________________________

Blair honestly didn’t want to go down into the cellar. Keith was down there doing what he did best. The discovery of the victim had been called in at eight thirty five in the morning. Her husband had thought she went out with the girls for a night on the town in Seattle. He had a nasty shock when he came into the cellar to do the laundry bright and early. This one got to Blair just as much as the other ones had. There was just no damned sense to it. This psychopath had added a husband and three children to the list of the grieving survivors.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and started towards the cellar doors. The doors, or what was left of them, were open, showing a ragged hole where something had burst through them. There didn’t seem to be anything on them, but that’s what trace was for. He started down the steps into the cellar. The gleaming white bottoms of the washer and dryer were the first thing to come into view. They were spattered in blood. As Blair walked further down the stairs, the smell started making itself more known. It was the scent of detergent and fabric softener nearly drowned out by blood. There was no visible sign of a struggle and almost nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. The victim must have been surprised.

“Hey, Lucky!”

Blair focused his attention on Keith now. He raised a hand in greeting as he snagged a pair of gloves from an investigator going over the scene. He slipped them on and came over to see what Keith had found.

“You didn’t come over to poker night.” Keith sounded a bit put out.

“You’re just saying that because you know I’m good for forty bucks before I sharpen up.” Blair fired back.

Keith grinned and gestured to the victim. “Her name was Alice Hawkins. Caucasian female approximately forty three years old. Liver temperature places time of death at six forty nine in the morning.”

“Odd.” Blair couldn’t stop the frown from coming to his face. “That’s just after sunrise. Weren’t the other murders committed after dark?”

“And before sunrise,” Keith reached down and picked up the victim’s hand. “That’s not all. See this?”

Oh, Blair saw it all right. The pad of a thumb and forefinger looked like it had been bitten ragged. Gaping holes stood out starkly against an otherwise pristine hand. Keith reached up and drew back the victim’s upper lip. The bloody teeth seemed unnaturally bright compared to the pale, pasty coloured skin. Keith let the lip fall back into place.

“Now, her teeth are stained with blood from the massive trauma she sustained to the torso, but these… marks on her fingers looked like they were caused with teeth.”

Blair was silent for a moment. “You mean intentionally inflicted?”

“I can hazard a guess and say yes. This was an act of someone who didn’t care about finesse. They were desperate to do something. Damned if I know what. Now, see under the fingernails here?”

Blair pulled out his glasses and slid them on for a look. There was some strange greyish looking material lodged underneath the nails. He frowned, brows furrowing together as he scrutinised it. Blair had seen a lot of things in his life so far but this…

“Is that what I think it is?”

“What do you think it is?”

“Flesh?”

“A hundred points to Lucky Sandburg. It’s flesh all right. Necrotic flesh to be more precise.”

“Wait, you mean she was attacked by something dead?” Blair felt like an idiot for saying it the moment it left his mouth.

“Mm-hm,” Keith nodded his head. “And it has the same look as that skin sample Jim found. I’ll bet you anything that the samples will match once I test them against one another.”

“Ah hell,” Blair closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. “You said the flesh was necrotic?”

“Yes. And I already checked with the hospitals in a three county radius. Not a single one has a case of necrotising fasciitis or corpses with gouges in them. You know I hate to say this since it sounds so bat-shit crazy, but all the evidence is pointing to a corpse walking around and killing people. I mean nothing but skin found at one location, and now this.” Keith pursed his lips together in annoyance. “And there’s nothing more I can do here. I need to move the body back to the lab so I can perform an autopsy for you guys. And I have no damned idea where Lin is. She’s back from vacation today, so she’s got no damned excuse.”

“Do you need a hand with the body?” Blair asked. Keith’s assistant was in for it when she finally got back.

“If you don’t mind,” Keith sighed. “Let me get the body bag.”

Blair stood back up for a moment, stretching his legs. When Keith came back with the black bag, they stretched it out beside the victim, unzipping it. It took some doing to push the ribcage back into place after tucking the lungs in. Keith grabbed the feet and slipped them into the bottom of the bag. Blair lifted the shoulders and shifted the body over so it was directly above the bag. He slowly lowered it in, while Keith parted the bag. Once it was it, Keith quickly zipped the bag shut and turned, saying something.

In all honesty, Blair didn’t hear him. He was too busy staring at the hurried scrawl of bright red letters. They spelled out ‘MAGS’ in streaky blood. That could easily be a reason why someone would bite the pads of their fingers ragged.

“Yo! Lucky!” Keith’s voice finally sunk in.

“You might want to document this.” Blair said as he turned to look around for the investigator.

Keith stood back up and came over. When he saw what was on the floor, hidden by the body, he swore softly to himself. Blair headed to the stairs, hearing the click and whir of the camera’s shutter. Once the investigator came down and photographed the new evidence. Blair knew what part was coming. It was a part he hated even after six years on the Cascade PD. Keith seemed to know since he simply asked Blair for a hand with getting the body bag up the cellar stairs. Once the body bag was up on ground level and on a gurney, Blair walked into the house.

He didn’t like interviewing the survivors. It had taken him a while to accept that it was a necessary evil. Testimony was better collected as soon as possible. The details were still fresh and there was less chance of something crucial slipping away in the fog of uncertain memories. Blair managed to keep the interview short. The husband had kept it all together as he answered Blair’s questions. Alice had worked with the Cascade Historical Society, chronicling the history of Cascade all the way back to when it was first founded. The only thing of note that the husband could think of was that Alice had met with some resistance when looking into one of the town founders. But there had never been a mention of from whom or what the problem was.

It was the only lead they had so far and it was tenuous at best. There was probably some dirt on one of the more prominent families in Cascade. All Blair knew was that it meant that he and Jim would start investigating, only to be called off by the panicked family making calls to the police chiefs.

Damned annoying was what it was.

With a sigh, Blair got into his car and drove back to headquarters. He trudged into the building, heading for his desk. When he got there, Jim had a transparent board out with a map overlay. Blair shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the chair before he walked over to the board as well. Jim glanced over at him and Blair started talking, filling him in on everything he had learned. Jim just listened and when Blair was done, he finally spoke.

“That explains the weird smell.” Jim said softly as he looked over the board.

“Weird smell?” Blair asked. This was something new.

“I smelled it at the first crime scene, really strong but not so much at the other ones. And I couldn’t place what that scent was for a while. Dead flesh and stale earth…haven’t smelt that in awhile.”

Blair was officially a little bit weirded out by this. Jim must have seen the look on his face, or sensed how he felt, because he continued.

“Down in Peru, we once found a mummified body. We were doing a routine patrol and one of my men came across it, just poking out from a small hill. Don’t know how the hell it got there. But it had a dry, earthy smell to it.”

“And that’s what you smelled at two crime scenes?”

Jim nodded his head, looking very cross. Blair didn’t blame him. With this new tidbit of information… well if they went with it, it sounded like something right out a bad monster movie. Something mummified had risen from the grave and was going around killing people? Blair vaguely wondered if their Rick O’Connell had shown up already. Okay and him even entertaining the idea that an undead creature was loose and stalking the streets of Cascade, not to mention drawing movie paralells… right up there with his ‘luck.’ This was just a bit too insane for it to actually be true.

“It’s just not making any sense Chief,” Jim sighed and rubbed a hand over his head. “But look at this pattern.”

Blair turned his attention to the map, looking at the little red dots that represented the crime scenes. Five in all, they moved in a crooked line across the streets of the city. And they were moving out from the urban area and into the suburban ones. It looked like whatever, no, whoever was killing was slowly moving up towards the more mountainous regions. Shit. He must have vocalised his sentiment somehow, since Jim was making a sound of agreement.

“Yeah. If they make it up into the mountains, it’ll be nearly impossible to find them. We can’t even find them now in the city.”

“We’ve been working on this case for awhile,” Blair suggested. “Maybe we need a pair of fresh eyes?”

“Plummer’s been nosing around –” Jim began.

“I was thinking Sam and Dean maybe.” Blair interrupted.

“Those two?” Now Jim looked a bit sceptical. “We don’t even know what branch they work for.”

“I’ll bet it’s for the FBI. Did you hear they way they talked and –”

“FBI agents don’t stay in crappy motels on the wrong side of town –”

“I bet their accounting department loves them.” Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose and Blair knew the fight was half over. “Jim, we need to catch this guy. We’ll get some input from them and then put this case to bed. Sound good?”

“You know I hate it when you do that, right?”Jim sounded weary.

“But it saves you so much trouble in the end. Why am I your partner?” Blair gave him a grin and he heard Jim mumble something about taking lessons from Keith.

“Because if it was anyone else, I’d have them out on their ass by now,” Jim growled as he turned away from the board. “Grab your jacket Chief. We’re taking my truck this time.”

___________________________________________________________

The forest was quiet. Well that wasn’t the truth. Compared to the city, it was damned near silent. After breakfast, Sam had set them out on a hike a bit into the forest. Half a mile in, Sam found a good spot and told Dean to get comfortable. Dean’s smart ass reply had been to adjust his handgun and then plop himself down at the base of a tree. A quick arranging of his legs ensured that small hunting knife didn’t slip out or unduly prod him. Sam did the same before he sat down somewhere else.

They had spent the whole morning working on Dean’s sight. First it had been picking out things to see at a far distance. It had been an odd squirrel here and there as well as whatever bird happened to pass through the small patch of sky overhead.

In all honesty, this sitting around and doing the same damned thing over and over again… Dean was starting to sympathise with Luke Skywalker on a whole new level. Though if Sam started insisting on riding around on his back, that would be it. Not like Sam was short and green anyhow. It helped that Dean had put the glasses back on and was leaning against a tree. Sam couldn’t tell that he had closed his eyes and was enjoying the feeling of warmth on his skin. He could hear the slight rustle of Sam’s clothes as he shifted.

“Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean didn’t move. Come to think of it, he probably should have let Sam think he fell asleep.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What do you see?”

Dean looked over at Sam from the top of the glasses. “Besides a pain in my ass?”

“And I’ll just keep on being a pain in your ass,” Sam stretched his arms and legs. Dean could hear the soft ‘pop’ of cartilage against cartilage. “So what do you see?”

“A six foot four pain in my ass.” Dean elaborated with a shit-eating grin.

Sam just stared at him before shaking his head and muttering, “Why do I bother sometimes?” Dean couldn’t even bring himself to dredge up anything resembling guilt. Sure, Sam was doing this to help him. But it was so damned boring. Quite frankly, Dean was amazed he hadn’t nodded off yet. He shifted his legs, tensing and relaxing the muscle to work some of the stiffness out of them. The breeze shifted suddenly and when he took a deep breath, the smell of water was as plain as day. Water… now there was an idea. He got up and walked over to Sam, nudging him with his foot.

“C’mon Sammy.”

“Oh, are you not being an asshole?” Sam asked mildly as he squinted up at him.

The comment was so perfectly catty that Dean seriously wondered why Sam hadn’t just outed himself yet. Or maybe it was the little comments like these and all those girly drinks that were supposed to do that. Because Dean didn’t know a single straight guy that acted like this sometimes. Dean just nudged him once more and started off in the direction of the water, pausing to sniff every few seconds. It was almost a minute before he heard the deliberately loud sounds of Sam coming after him.

Walking was turning into something of an uphill battle. The ground gently starting sloping upwards and the trees grew in thicker. It was more than once that Dean glanced behind him to make sure that Sam hadn’t fallen behind. But Sam was right there behind him, long legs quickly making short work of the terrain. Bitch. Dean kept heading up the hill, his thighs starting to feel the burn of the constant work.

But when he reached the top of the hill, it was totally worth it. There was the source of the smell, a small lake. It seemed so picturesque, the sun sparkling off the water and the quiet sounds of the wind rustling through the trees… Dean looked around, wondering when something would burst out from the trees with the intent to kill. It’d probably be something vicious, like a werewolf, or hairy, like Sasquatch. Not that Sasquatch was real, but that wasn’t even the point now anyhow.

He walked forward cautiously, hand slipping to the butt of his weapon. A slight click came from behind him as Sam also drew his weapon and released the safety. But as they left the cover of the trees, there wasn’t anything odd that Dean was picking up. Everything thing sounded fine, nothing smelled off and it had been a long time since he’d been for a swim. He relaxed, standing up straight as he walked closer to the lake.

“All clear?” Sam’s voice still sounded a bit tense.

“Yeah,” Dean said as he paused a few meters from the water.”It’s all clear.”

“So what are we doing here exactly?” Sam asked as he put the safety back on and tucked the gun into the back of his waistband.

“What do you think?”

Dean looked back and gave Sam a grin before he quickly stripped off his shirt. He had placed his gun on the shirt and undid the top button of his pants when Sam made an annoyed sound. Dean knew what was coming. There would be a lecture and Sam would be a complete killjoy and thus affirm how much he could just totally suck sometimes. He kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks as he started towards the lake.

“We don’t have time for you to be…”

Sam’s words dried up as Dean just unzipped the fly and kicked his pants off completely. The knife he left on. The ankle holster was synthetic and would dry easily. Plus, with the quick release strap, a knife would work in the water. And so, before Sam could really work himself up, Dean just gave up all pretence of acting like an adult.

___________________________________________________________

This morning must have been when. It must have been the time Dean decided to just act like an eight-year old who just discovered they had the rest of the week off because of snow. How else would Sam explain Dean throwing his arms in the air and running gleefully into the water, in his boxers with a hunting knife strapped to his ankle nonetheless, while hollering at the top of his lungs?

It was absolutely asinine.

Sam was finding it very hard to just not smile. He really couldn’t say that he blamed Dean. If he’d been through a month of sensory hell, Sam might be a little drunk from experiencing simple sensations again. And Sam was trying to give Dean some leeway, he really was. But the faster Dean got a grip on his senses, the sooner they could be on their way and out of Jim and Blair’s hair. He sighed and went to pick up Dean’s clothes and gun and move them out of the way. There was a slight knoll to his right, close to the water, and he started towards it.

It was then that his cell phone rang.

“Dude,” Dean called from the water as Sam frantically tried to answer his phone. “Pussycat Dolls?”

Sam felt his face burn red at Dean’s laughter. This one was going to take a while to live this one down. But he knew how to take some of the sting out… “How would you know? Been jerking off to their music videos when I wasn’t around?”

That cut Dean’s laughter short and as soon as they got back to the cabin, he was changing the damned ringtone. This was the last time that he bought a phone and didn’t check. He finally got a hold of it and answered hastily.

“Hello?”

 _“Hello Sam. How’s Dean doing?”_

It was the same strange caller as before. Sam glanced over at the water just in time to see Dean’s striped boxers disappear in a dive. He placed Dean’s clothes down and turned towards the lake. The wind was pressing against him, so when Dean surfaced, it might make Sam’s words harder to hear. Hopefully.

“Who is this?”

 _“Just someone who was concerned. That’s all. So I gather that he’s better now and you’re considering if I should be the target of that fearsome Winchester rage?”_

“It seems like a good idea,” Sam said slowly before asking, “What do you want with Dean?”

 _“Me? Absolutely nothing. Just keeping a promise to John is all. Except my idiot child complicated matters. I am deeply sorry and amends shall be made.”_

“Wait –” Sam began.

The line went dead and Sam felt like cursing. The entire conversation had only been three sentences long, but it raised far too many questions. Who owed a favour to Dad? And how did they know exactly when to call? Sam felt a chill creep along his spine as he looked at his phone screen. Not to mention the little fact that they made a call come through in a place that got no service whatsoever. He rested the cell phone on the ground looking at it warily. There was something about this that wasn’t adding up.

Plus there was the question of what triggered Dean’s Sentinel abilities. But Sam had a suspicion that if he asked Dean, his brother would clam up on him. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Dean had been surprisingly straight with him this morning… in a very roundabout way. Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair.

A splash of water came arching towards him and landed square on his face. Sam shook the water off quickly and dried Dean’s gun and his phone with Dean’s shirt. He looked over and there was Dean, treading water and just grinning up at him like a goofy kid.

And for all the aggravation that Dean was giving him, Sam really felt like he couldn’t deny Dean this. Maybe he shouldn’t deny himself either. A day of just pure relaxation couldn’t hurt the both of them.

“Hey Dean, can you hear this?” Sam called before he softly whispered.

“Fuck you? Oh come on Sammy. You gotta do better than that.”

Sam plucked at the front of his shirt before he just stripped it off and spread it out on the ground. Sopping wet right across the front. He might as well go in for a dip, because Dean probably wouldn’t stop until he was soaked from head to foot. He got up and quickly and took his pants, shoes and socks off before he looked over at the lake again. The knoll did jut out a bit. With a good running start… he started walking back towards the forest.

“Sammy?” Dean called. “Where the hell are you going?”

Sam walked back to the tree line before he turned around and broke into a sprint. He surged forward a bit as he neared the knoll and launched himself off it. He hurtled up into the air and he tucked himself into a ball as he felt his body pass the apex and start descending. There was blue sky and white clouds for a moment before impact replaced it with slightly murky looking green water. He broke out of the ball and surfaced to find Dean sputtering and shaking water out of his eyes.

“Bitch.” Dean managed as water ran down his face and pooled in his moving mouth.

Sam quickly shook the water from his face and hair before he grinned back and replied, “Jerk.”

___________________________________________________________

Jim knew Blair was confused. He could practically feel it rolling off his partner in waves. Jim had every intention of seeing if Sam and Dean had anything on profile anywhere with any sort of law enforcement. He’d ask for their ID numbers and run it through the system. It wouldn’t take long to check.

But he’d been looking for anything they might have overlooked from reports previous to the start of the murders. They only thing that struck him as suspicious was the report of a break in at the Schneider mausoleum almost a month and a half ago. And nothing happened of it. No investigation, nothing. It was as if the bulk of the case just vanished into thin air. Apparently the Schneiders had paid a few calls to the police chief and personally requested that this matter not be looked into. They wanted their privacy.

So Simon had no choice but to put an end to investigation.

If Simon knew Jim and Blair were about to go poking around in the family mausoleum, he might blow an artery or the like. So this visit was hush-hush. The less Blair knew then the less heat he would take if they got caught. The open cemetery gates came up and Jim turned off the road and drove in. These damned places were like rabbit warrens. Twists and turns everywhere and a pain in the neck to find. But the mausoleums were few and far between here. The only problem was the size of the grounds. They might be spending the entire day here searching. Jim found a parking lot, surprisingly full, and grabbed a spot at the back of the lot.

“Okay, I have to ask,” Blair began as he unbuckled his seat belt and got out. “What are we doing here?”

“Investigating a disturbance at a grave.” Jim replied as he got out.

A quick look and listen around proved that and looked around. There was no one in the general vicinity. He motioned to Blair and started walking towards the winding path. Blair fell in step beside him.

“You know, we aren’t supposed to follow up on that.” Blair said after a couple of minutes.

“I know.” Jim replied. “But didn’t it seem strange to you?”

“Well, yeah. But Simon asked us to back off the case.” Blair gave him a pointed look.

Jim ignored it. “Think about it. There’s a break-in at a mausoleum and then exactly thirteen days later, the murders start occurring. The only link in both cases is the Schneider family.”

“You think the reason why they didn’t want the tomb investigated is linked to the murders?” Blair looked at Jim for a moment before he added, “Or do you think it’s the reason for the murders?”

In all honesty, Jim wasn’t too sure what to think anymore. Nothing in these damned cases was making sense. Dead flesh, ritualistic murders and lack of evidence? The whole thing smelled of a cover-up. But there was nothing to prove that a cover-up had taken place. There was just a body count, with one of the victims’ crawling out the cryptic message in her blood. There was only one idea Jim could think of that made sense. But admitting it out loud would just get him a one-way ticket to the shrink. Blair would believe him, but that didn’t mean the entire department would. Simon had taken a lot of things on faith from him… but this would be stretching it.

A beep from beside him made him look over. Blair had his cell phone out and was calling someone. Jim stopped and turned, waiting as Blair waited. He got Blair’s attention and tapped on his ear. Blair nodded his head. Jim turned his hearing up until he could easily hear the ring tone.

 _“Cascade Historical Society. Dave Smith speaking, how can I help you?”_

“Uh hi,” Blair could always nail that innocent college kid voice. “I’m at the Peaceful Plains cemetery. I was wondering where the town founders graves are. I’d like to pay my respects.”

 _“Oh,”_ Dave sounded surprised. _“We don’t get many kids wanting to do that. The only town founder buried in Peaceful Plains is Agatha Schneider.”_

“I see. On an off chance you wouldn’t happen to know where she’s buried, would you?”

 _“She’s at the end of plot j, mausoleum 25. It’s pretty quiet out there.”_

“Thanks. You just saved me about three hours of walking.”

 _“No problem. Anything else?”_

“Nope. Thanks man.”

 _“You’re welcome. Have a good day.”_

“You too.” Blair clicked his phone shut. “So we’re just going to be in and out right?”

“In and out,” Jim promised as he scaled back on his hearing. “We don’t need to be the reason that Simon gets raked over the fire by the chiefs.”

“I hear you.” Blair said.

They hurried now, consulting the map once to figure out where the mausoleum was. It really was in a quiet spot, tucked in the back of the plot. That strange, dry, earthen smell was in the air as they approached. It got stronger and by the time they reached the mausoleum doors, Jim could damned near taste and feel gritty grains of dirt at the back of his throat. Thankfully, the doors weren’t locked. Blair swung them open gently, peering around the side of the door. A second later, he swung it open fully and stepped inside. Jim followed after him. The mausoleum looked perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt inside. There had to be some here. Jim’s nose hadn’t lied to him yet. There was a platform in the middle of the room, holding a long rectangular casket carved from marble. He turned up his sense of smell further and wasn’t surprised to find that the biggest concentration was coming from the stone casket.

“Give me a hand with this.” Jim said as he moved to a corner and braced his hands against it.

Blair came and helped him push. It seemed like the lid didn’t want to move, but after a couple of seconds it gave with a slight scrape and slowly swung away.

The scent of dirt escaped from the casket in a whoosh, making Jim choke and gag a bit. It was strong and it seemed like it had clogged his nose now. He sneezed reflexively a few times and felt much better afterwards. Blair was looking at him in concern, but Jim just shook his head and said, “I’m fine” before he continued to push.

Once the lid was pushed back a bit, Jim stepped back to see what was inside the coffin. Or, in this case, what wasn’t in there.

An empty dirt lined coffin greeted their sight.

“Okay, now call me crazy,” Blair began. “But… this is the part where we’re supposed to be looking at a body, right?”

“Yes.” Jim really wished his crazy idea still seemed crazy. He’d willingly take that trip to the department therapist.

There was a long silence before Blair said, “And there’s no body.”

“No.”

Jim glanced over to find Blair looking at him. And maybe this was more crazy, but Jim suddenly had the idea that Blair was thinking the same thing he was. But honestly… a dead body running around killing people? Simon would have them pulled from the case so fast their hair – well, Blair’s hair since Jim’s was decidedly short – would be flapping in the breeze.

“You don’t think the stress of the case…” Blair trailed off.

“I feel more stressed now than before.” Jim didn’t bother to keep the weariness from his voice.

“I think we really need a second opinion.”

That Jim could agree with. He nodded his head. They pushed the lid back into place and closed the door. They still didn’t say anything as they walked back to the truck. Jim really couldn’t blame Blair for not being his usual talkative self. How exactly did one go about tracking down an, and Jim still couldn’t believe this, an animated dead corpse? Did you send out the hounds or call in the Ghostbusters or something? …Mulder and Scully?

It was honestly starting to give Jim a slight headache. When they got to the truck, they got in and Jim started the engine before leaving and heading towards the highway.

He really hoped Dean and Sam had a much saner idea.

___________________________________________________________


	3. Chapter 3

In Blair's opinion, the drive up to the Three Fingers cabin was much better this time. There was less jouncing about and it was much easier on his butt. As much as he loathed admitting it, maybe there was some validity to Jim’s argument for getting a more rugged vehicle. But then he had visions of the amount of gas that the vehicle would consume and he was more than content with his little four-door sedan.

Jim had stopped by his favourite burger place and gotten enough food for a small army. Food might help smooth over any potential rough patches. Blair really wished he had something to work from. Trying to figure out how two fully functional male Sentinels would act around each other was guesswork at best. With Alex, there had been some primal instinct to mate. With Dean, another active Sentinel, here on Jim’s turf, it could mean a lot of irrational behaviour on Jim’s part. So far there had been none of that, but Blair was waiting for it to rear its ugly head.

Though, truth be told, Jim would have precedent on his side. When Alex had came to him asking for help, he hadn’t thought it would result in his eventual death. Blair didn’t think that either he or Jim would be dying any time soon. But then again, with his luck…

“Something wrong Chief?” Jim glanced over at him before looking back to the trail.

“Just thinking.” Blair said a bit absently.

“About?” Jim prodded.

“Armageddon,” Blair shifted in his seat. “I’m thinking one of two things will happen.”

“Okay.” Jim said.

Jim’s eyes were glued to the road, but his grip had tightened on the steering wheel and his jaw tightened. At least Jim was going to take this seriously.

“Okay, maybe there won’t be a stand-off of some sort. If Dean and Sam are FBI, they move around a lot. They might not consider one place their turf. Dean might look at it more on a… well, a national level I guess. What he does would protect thousands in this country.”

“And the flip side being Dean and me duke it out?” Jim bluntly said.

“Yes.” Blair could only answer honestly. There was no sugar coating this one. “But I really don’t see that happening.”

“Mm-hm.”

That was Jim sole response and Blair felt a little bit worried. Hopefully if it did come down to some territorial imperative Sam would be able to reason with Dean. He’d reason with Jim and have that much less of a headache to deal with.

And that was if it all went well. Dealing with Sentinel Armageddon was not Blair’s idea of a productive afternoon. He glanced down at the copies of the case files he had brought with him. They were stuffed down between the seat and the door. That might tick Jim off a little bit. But it did have the added benefit of possibly diverting Jim’s focus.

“You think he’s doing okay?” Blair asked after a couple of minutes.

“I think so. Sam seems very capable.” Jim said.

Blair was quiet for a little bit longer, watching as the trail cleared up a bit more and the undergrowth started thinning. A couple minutes later, there came the gleam of sunlight off a black fender. Jim pulled in beside the car and turned the truck around. Once the engine was dead, Blair got out and tucked the case files under an arm and started for the front door. Jim came behind him, arms laden with food. When Blair stepped onto the porch, he didn’t see anything to indicate that anyone was inside. He knocked loudly and waited. Jim just stared at him.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much Chief?” Jim asked. “We could just go in.”

“Just being polite,” Blair said a bit defensively. “Besides, I think we can allow them this one little thing, right? I mean, do you just go barging in on people?”

“Good point.” Jim conceded. “But considering I carried Dean in while he weighed as much as a damned horse, I don’t think they’d object to us going in and having a seat.

Blair just had a feeling it was a bad idea when Jim opened the door and stepped in, making a beeline for the coffee table in the living room. Blair paused in the doorway, trying to figure out how he was going to smooth this one over. He looked down as he closed the door, seeing a neat line of a white powder. There was a gaping hole from where he and Jim had walked in, kicking the stuff inside the cabin. Frowning, he crouched down to inspect it closer, only to have Jim’s iron grip on his arm jerk him back up.

“Don’t touch it,” Jim’s voice was hard. “We don’t have any idea of what it is.”

“Honestly, it looks like table salt to me.” Blair said. “And it looks like we disturbed it anyhow.”

Jim didn’t say anything but after a moment, he released Blair’s arm. “Looks and smells like it too.”

By this time, Blair had spotted a line on the window sill in the kitchen and had gone to inspect that as well. A sneaking suspicion lodged itself in Blair’s head and he went to every single room in the cabin to check. Jim followed him, confusion becoming more and more evident. When Blair finally came back to the living room he was absolutely convinced.

“Oh man, this is something else.”

“What is?” Jim asked.

“They’ve got salt at every available entry point.”

Jim looked at him blankly before asking, “Care to translate for the rest of us?”

“It’s for protection.”

“Protection from what?”

There was a seriously sceptical note in Jim’s voice. Blair didn’t really blame him. This sort of thing was way beyond Jim’s sphere of caring, really. Blair thought for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it.

“Things that go bump in the night.” Blair finally answered.

Jim just stared at him for a moment before he shook his head and sat down on the couch. “Great. I’m too old to deal with this stuff… and Mulder and Scully.”

___________________________________________________________

The early afternoon was perfect in Dean’s opinion, slight hunger aside. He and Sam had finished swimming awhile ago. Once they had waded out from the water, they had stretched out on the knoll beside their clothes. Dean’s handgun was right beside him, in easy reach. But he seriously didn’t see something happening to them here. It would have happened already.

They had spent the time goofing off. Or rather that’s what Dean was sticking to. Sam was very sneaky. Dean had been intent on completely unwinding for the day. Sam had made him use his senses in a whole whack of new ways. Changing the volume and pitch of his voice, placing himself in the sun’s path before diving way and swimming either closer or further away… Sam had gotten creative.

But it was working though. Dean felt that he was gaining more control over his senses and learning to focus on them for the required level. He could adjust his hearing and his sight now as needed. Hell, if he really wanted to, he could start counting the number of pinecones on the ground by the pine tree on the opposite side of the lake. It would probably take a couple more days, but Dean was convinced that he could get his senses completely under control.

He grunted slightly and shifted. When they had stretched out on the knoll a companionable silence fell between them. Dean was more than content to simply sit there for a bit and just… well, as stupid as it sounded, Dean was content to just sit there and be. Sam had tried to stay up, but his eyes kept fluttering shut before he opened them again with the slightly wild look and start of someone fighting sleep. Before long, Sam had fallen asleep lying beside Dean. Sam’s hair curled even more when damp and drying. Dean reached down and smoothed back some of the wayward curls from Sam’s face. There was an upside to doing stuff like this when the other person was asleep: no chance of damned questions and potential awkwardness.

The sunlight was slowly creeping across the knoll, interspersed by the clouds that drifted past overhead. So far, this day felt so normal that it was just barely skirting the borderline of, ‘excruciatingly boring and painful.’ Nothing had tried to kill them, curse them or end their lives in a generally messy fashion.

Sam shifted in his sleep, turning towards Dean. Dean choked back a snicker when Sam’s arm was flung over his lap. That snicker died when Sam snuggled in closer to his leg, breath moving in a slow seep of warmth against Dean’s skin. Sam’s fingers curled into the leg of the boxers. Dean swallowed thickly, suddenly finding the sky very interesting. There was no getting free of Sam without waking him up. Sam’s fingers were now stroking against his thigh in small, repetitive motions.

What Dean really wished was that it didn’t feel pretty good. Because having your brother stroke your leg like that was kinda skeevy. Not as skeevy as those damned unhygienic witches, what with their blood and bodily fluids, but still pretty skeevy and sweet merciful Jesus why was Sam’s hand starting to roam? Dean grasped Sam’s hand, intent on moving it away. Sam’s hand grasped hold of his tightly for a moment before it relaxed with sleep again.

Dean’s throat felt dry and he turned his thoughts inward again as he let Sam’s hand rest against his leg once more. Like trying to figure out what that trickster had planned, that was a good start.

That damned Trickster was going to pay for laughing at Dean. And so mockingly too…

That had been one of the worst hunts he’d been on in a long while. What that Trickster had done to him…. Dean tightened his jaw reflexively, hearing the sound of cartilage and muscle rubbing against bone. After a moment of deep breathing, Dean calmed himself and readjusted his hearing. Yeah, it was cranked up way too high if he could hear what was rubbing against bone. What had honestly surprised him was that Sam didn’t ask him what had happened on the hunt yet.

And the worst part for Dean was that he had no idea of what he would say for Sam. Oh, he could evade the issue for a bit, but the moment Sam realised what he was up to the questions would be relentless. Like Chinese water torture. It’d be a question here and there; gradually building up until Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

He scowled slightly. The best thing to do would be to explain what had happened when Sam woke up. It would just be the two of them here. There would be no possible interruption from Jim and Blair… whenever the hell those two were coming back to the cabin.

Dean didn’t really want to recall anything of that damned hunt. It had all happened after he had been separated from Sam and after the Trickster had decided to screw with his mind.

It was better to just concentrate on today and getting better. Besides when Dean tracked down that thing and rammed a stake through its heart, it would be the most satisfying thing he’d do for a long while. He just lay there watching the clouds float by, stretched and distorted with the wind. It was awhile before Sam stirred. Sam’s arm slid off Dean’s lap as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Dean ignored the chill that settled in where Sam’s arm had been.

“How long have I been out?”

“An hour or so,” Dean glanced at his watch before looking back at the sky. “You ready to head back?”

“Feel like I could eat a horse,” Sam yawned and stretched, grabbing a shirt and pulling it on. “You?”

“Kinda hungry.” Dean answered as he got up and found his pants.

He pulled them on and did them up before looking for his shirt… or rather Sam’s shirt since Sam was now wearing his. Sam was pulling his pants on and then his socks and shoes. Dean did the same, wondering how the hell he was going to broach this topic. It wasn’t one he really wanted to.

“Hey,”

Sam’s voice made him look over. There was a crease in Sam’s brow and a concerned look in those brown eyes. Dean met and kept his gaze. Sam would know for sure if he looked away.

“You okay?”

Dean snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam frowned and Dean wanted to kick himself a bit. He was supposed to be telling Sam, not chickening out like some little pansy. Dean tucked the handgun into the back of his waist band before he looked back at Sam.

“Look, it’s not…” Dean trailed off, trying to find the right words to start with. “It’s not easy, okay?”

Sam’s expression softened as he said, “All right. Don’t push yourself then.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’ll want to know. And you’ll slowly push until you get answers, so I might as well give ‘em to you now.”

A guilty look flitted across Sam’s face and Dean felt vindicated. Damn straight he’d tell him now, because if he stopped talking, he might just lose his nerve and that was something that would just infuriate him to no end.

“So you know after we tracked the Trickster to that warehouse in Scranton?”

“Yeah.”

Sam’s voice was quiet and steady, and it honestly did calm him a bit. Dean paused for a moment, gathering himself.

“And you know how we split up?” Dean watched as Sam simply nodded. “The Trickster found me first.”

“… What happened?” Sam finally asked.

“I wish I damned well knew for sure.” Dean grumbled.

He started pacing, wishing there was something for him to kick into the lake. But there were only tree trunks and the ground: either one would hurt. Dean really wished there was an easier way to describe what had happened, what he had seen… what he feared the most…

“It was pretty damned dark in that warehouse. I thought the Trickster had gone into a room. So I went. I was right. Kind of.”

“Dean –” Sam started.

“The room was pitch-black. No light from outside and the light from the hallway was… swallowed by the black, can’t really describe it any other way. I heard something behind me, and it was the Trickster. Damned thing shoved me into the room and slammed the door shut.”

Now Sam looked confused. “But I heard that. I came and found you. The room was fine.”

“Well it damned well wasn’t to me.” Dean snapped and ran a hand through his hair. “There was just… nothing. And then I saw someone.”

“Who did you see?”

“…You. Except it wasn’t you,” Dean could hear his heart thudding in his chest pounding out a sound akin to a tribal drum, could literally feel the increased rush of blood through his veins. Christ, why couldn’t this be easier? “It was a… demon version of you, only your eyes were this funky whitish-yellow colour.”

Dean glanced over at Sam, seeing a surprised and stricken expression on his face. It seemed ridiculous, but Sam’s lips clamped down into a thin line. Sam must have had a million questions and then realised that Dean would have had no answers for them.

“You…” Dean took a deep breath. “It said that my rightful place was by your side, like it had always been. And that…”

There was a long silence as Dean trailed off. He didn’t know if he should tell Sam about the next part, how a demon version of him had emerged from the darkness to stand beside the demon-Sam, like some bastard child of everything sick and twisted, how it encouraged him to accept the inevitable and just fall into the darkness with Sam. He was already damned from his deal with the crossroads demon, so just accepting the inevitable would make everything so, so, so much easier in the end.

No, he wouldn’t tell Sam about it. It was something he would have to deal with eventually.

But thinking about it made him feel nauseous, his palms slicked with sweat and he felt like he would throw up. He balled his hands into fists, taking deep breaths. He glanced at Sam to find him just standing there with a grim and bleak expression on his face now.

“And that?” Sam prodded.

“And that I should rule by your side. You sounded like some bad movie villain.” Dean tried to inject some levity into this conversation, but it fell so flat it probably passed through the earth and was currently in China.

Sam opened his mouth but shut it, thinking. After a moment, he asked, “What did you do then?”

“What do you think?” Dean’s voice was cold and withering.

Sam just nodded his head with a heavy sigh. Dean could see it in his eyes, could see that Sam knew what had been done. While the demon versions of him and Sam had been manifestations of the Trickster, Dean had learned after their first encounter with the thing at the university. Anything the Trickster manifested had to be killed the good old fashioned way. No chanting of mumbo jumbo, or spells. Nothing quite like physical violence did the trick.

It had been quick though. Two bullets rapidly fired from his Colt and two bodies hit the floor. It had been sickening to look down and see his body and Sam’s crumpled on the floor like wet sacks of meal. He’d almost lost his dinner in fact. It didn’t help that the darkness pressed in further, swallowing the bodies until it was just Dean surrounded by nothing. And that’s how it had been until he felt a shoulder on his hand. He’d turned around, gun aimed only to find himself looking at Sam. The room had looked normal then, with the faint street light streaming in from the window. Sam had looked at him, trying to figure out what was happening.

And now, Sam was looking at him. His expression was still grim but he was thinking. Dean could practically see the cogs turning, trying to puzzle out what had happened, with this new information.

“Dean, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes that we were separated for.”

“Felt like a lot fuckin’ longer Sammy.” Dean said flatly. He started towards the tree line. “C’mon, I want to start heading back while we still have some light.”

Thankfully, Sam didn’t ask any more questions. He just followed.

___________________________________________________________

There was a part of Sam that sometimes wished he could just keep his mouth shut. And that Dean didn’t know him so damned well. It was currently the reason why they were trekking back to the cabin in complete silence.

The Trickster had totally fucked around with Dean’s head. It explained a bit why Dean had been so reticent after that failed hunt. Sam was pretty sure if he had to shoot something that looked like him and Dean, he’d be quiet about it. Dean, being typical Dean, was trying to deal with too much. Given Dean’s physical state had been slowly deteriorating for the past month, coupled with mental stresses… It had probably contributed to him passing out in some manner. Not that he’d tell Dean that. It was entirely possible to Sam.

He knew that Dean didn’t want him, ‘going over to the dark side.’ While it wasn’t said so bluntly, it was seen in how Dean reacted to the possibility of Sam doing anything remotely metaphysical. It was borderline freaking out. Sam honestly hated it when Dean got to that point.

Having the Trickster throw something like that in Dean’s face… well, if it had been Sam instead, Sam was pretty sure he wouldn’t be a happy camper either. But during that long pause, it had seemed like Dean was trying to gauge how much to tell him. Sam had a distinct impression that Dean wasn’t telling him something else. But given that Dean had pretty spoken of his own volition and no arm twisting – proverbial or otherwise – had been needed, Sam hadn’t pushed.

Dean’s words of, “Felt like a lot fuckin’ longer Sammy” echoed in his head. Blair had said that prolonged periods of isolation could trigger Sentinel abilities. It was making Sam wonder just how long those five minutes had felt like to Dean in actuality. It also didn’t help that there was no predetermined length of time. It was something that probably varied from person to person. If it felt like too long to Dean, this it was entirely possible that his abilities kicked in defensively. But why this one situation and not another one was something else altogether.

Sam made a vague sound of disgust in the back of his throat, earning a look from Dean. He waved away Dean’s concern, picking his way over a moss covered log.

So far the only good thing about today had been goofing off with Dean for awhile. Not that Sam let him goof off much anyhow.

They were approaching the cabin now and through the trees. Sam could see glimmers of black from the Impala and blue as well, from Jim’s pickup truck. Dean must have noticed as well but he slowed down a bit, head cocked a bit. Sam paused beside him, wondering what Dean heard. It was a few seconds later that he scowled. Sam tapped him on the shoulder, mouthing the word, “What?”

Dean didn’t look too thrilled when he replied back with, “I think our cover is blown.”

That puzzled Sam for all of five seconds before he recalled the salt lines he’d drawn out the previous night. It was something he and Dean were used to. They didn’t drag their feet at doorways and didn’t really disturb the entrance points in a room or place. But to someone else who wasn’t familiar with hunting, it would seem damned odd to have salt laid out around the house in particular spots. It might even prompt further digging around to see what caused such an oddity.

When Dean started walking again, Sam noticed he found a thick, brittle looking branch and purposefully stepped on it. The ensuing crack echoed out, and the sounds of birds and things rustling around on the forest floor momentarily paused. It could probably be hear from the cabin, to anyone with Sentinel abilities.

“Lucy, I’m home.” Sam mumbled under his breath.

Dean glanced back at him with a grin and started towards the house quickly. Sam fell in step behind him. As they got to the house and stepped inside, Sam looked down, noticing that the salt line at the door was disturbed. Oh, this should prove to be interesting.

Jim and Blair were in the living room, seated on the couch. As Sam walked forward, he could see an assortment of papers spread out on the coffee table. There seemed to be reports of some kind as well as some grisly looking photos. He couldn’t quite tell what they were, since Jim twisted around and looked at them, blocking his view.

“Been swimming?” Jim asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Sam answered slowly, wondering how the other man knew that.

Dean started walking forward, but he turned to Sam for a second, tapping his nose. Sam had to fight the urge to sniff at his arm. He didn’t smell a damned thing. Maybe there was the lingering smell of lake water on him and Dean? Dean had walked around the couch to look at Jim and Blair.

“Need something?”

So Dean was going to bring this issue to a head. Just get it out of the way. Only Sam wished he hadn’t. Those files on the table looked like police reports. So unless Jim and Blair were in the habit of regularly stealing police files, these two were cops. Sam went to stand beside Dean. This could end very badly unless –

“We need your help,” Blair said bluntly. “And we wanted to make sure you were doing okay Dean.”

“And before you say anything,” Jim said, looking between them. “Are you two pretty much Mulder and Scully?”

Sam glanced at Dean. If he could have laughed, he would have. The X Files had just saved their skins. Dean coughed lightly and mumbled something about badges and booked it to the bedroom. Great. Jim and Blair were now looking at him expectantly.

“I suspect my partner is going to get you our badges,” Sam said. He was grabbing this and running all the way he could with it. “But it’s pretty much as you guessed.”

Jim just nodded his head for a moment, scrutinising Sam. “These are our current cases. Maybe your… expertise will be an asset.”

There was a slightly sour tone to Jim’s voice. When Sam glanced up, he saw an exasperated look on Blair’s face and a scowl on Jim’s face. Blair moved over on the couch, making room for him. Sam sat down, pulling a case file towards him. The photo was grisly, but when he finally had it closer to him, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Somebody’s torso had been ripped open and the lungs draped over the shoulders. A quick glance at the other photos proved all the victims had died in a similarly gory fashion. A click of a doorknob made him look back up to see Dean come back out from the bedroom, leather card wallets in hand.

It would have been a tight squeeze with the four of them on the couch. Dean gave Jim their fake badges to look at, as well as some business cards. Sam vaguely wondered if Jim would be able to tell, but they were handed back to Dean a couple of seconds later, and the cards pocketed. Dean then perched himself on the couch arm beside Sam. Sam was grateful that he wouldn’t be wedged between Dean and Blair.

Jim started talking, with Blair adding on the small details. The murders had been occurring for a month and a half now and the current body count was at five. While there had been no activity for the past couple of days, they figured it was only a matter of time. Sam was inclined to agree with them. Five murders over the course of a month and a half added up to pretty much a victim a week. It was only a matter of time before someone else was killed.

He glanced over at Dean a couple of times. There was a determined light in those hazel eyes now and Sam felt himself truly relax. Dean wanted to go hunting. If there was ever an indicator that Dean was himself again, that was it. Jim and Blair finally stopped talking, looking over at them waiting to hear their input. Sam had a feeling that if they heard the conclusion he had reached, then they’d be called crazy.

“You might want to leave us to –” Sam began tactfully.

“You are not cutting us out of our case,” Blair said. “Please tell me we’re not crazy and that it’s a dead person.”

Jim groaned and Sam glanced at Dean in surprise. Okay, that had been the last thing he was expecting to hear from Blair.

“Er, well, yes.” Sam just admitted.

Blair practically jumped off the couch, fists pumping in what could only be called victory. Sam looked at Dean who just shrugged in nonchalance. Jim gave a long-suffering sigh.

“We were pretty sure we’d lost it when we reached that conclusion as well. When we went to the Schneider mausoleum, there was no body.”

“No body?” Dean repeated.

“Yeah, there was no body man,” Blair was grinning ecstatically. “There was dirt in the coffin but no body. Damnedest thing we ever saw.”

“All I know is that we want some answers,” Jim said. “And whatever is killing innocent people in my town, I want it dead.”

There was hardness to Jim’s tone that made Sam glad he didn’t have to meet this guy in a dark alley somewhere. Or in a forest during the dark of the moon for that matter. Dean just nodded his head. Sam closed the file and placed it on the table before he got up and headed to the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Blair called after him.

“Packing.” Sam explained.

Dean was the one to clarify by saying, “We’re coming back to the city.”

___________________________________________________________

Blair glanced over at Jim. “See, I told you everything would be fine.”

The sun was just starting to set and they were slowly driving down the car trail from the cabin. The black car that Sam and Dean drove was right behind them, slowly manoeuvring. Dean had looked much better today. Blair knew he was looking at someone who was already halfway back down the recovery road. Whatever Sam was doing, it was working well.

Jim had reservations about telling Sam and Dean about the case. It hadn’t helped that they weren’t there when they arrived. And that they hadn’t shown up for awhile. But once Dean and Sam had gotten a look over a case file – just one case file – they had immediately swung into action. But they had kept their theories to themselves.

When Sam had disappeared into the bedroom to start packing, Dean had said they’d do some digging and see what they could turn up. He had said it would take a day or so, but they’d go as fast as they could.

Blair wasn’t sure what else they could turn up, but they might work the cases from a different angle. Jim hadn’t protested giving them the copies of the case files to review on the drive back down. Even now, when he looked at the rear view mirror, he could see someone in the passenger side reading something by flashlight.

“Guess you were right,” Jim finally replied. “Have to say though; I feel a little bit better.”

“Because we might actually have this solved soon?”

Jim shook his head. “No. Either we’re perfectly sane, or they’re as crazy as we are.”

Blair glanced over and in the fading light, he could see Jim grinning. Yeah, Blair was sure it would be a cold day in hell before Jim truly stopped baiting him. He shook his head with a chuckle. Silence filled the car until they were off the trail and driving through the park. When they left the park and got onto the interstate, his phone rang. He reached into his jacket pocket and dug it out.

“Sandburg.”

 _“Hey, it’s Sam. The fifth victim spelled out word MAGS, right?”_

“Yes.”

 _“What was the name of the person in the mausoleum you and Jim went to?”_

“Agatha Schneider.”

 _“Agatha… Schneider. Thanks.”_

“Have a better idea?”

 _“Just a rough theory. Either way, it’s not going to be fun. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and update you on our progress when we have more facts. Noon okay?”_

“Sounds fine.”

 _“Okay. Thanks. Bye.”_

Sam hung up and Blair saved the number before tucking the phone back into his pocket. Jim glanced over at him. There was still a smile on Jim’s face.

“I think,” Jim said slowly, but Blair could hear the laugh held back. “I might have to say your optimism isn’t entirely unfounded this time around.”

“Great, thanks man.” Blair said dryly. “Way to have faith in people.”

“Oh, you know me. Mr Believer.”

Blair just stared at Jim for a moment before the laugh broke free. He shook his head, wiping away the tears that started to pool in the corner of his eyes.

“Man, you are so cynical that it hurts sometimes.” Blair grinned. “And sometimes you might as well be a crotchety old man.”

Jim punched at his shoulder playfully. “And you’re a mother hen.”

“Good thing Simon stuck us together,” Blair rubbed at his shoulder with an offended expression. “We might have just murdered anyone else he stuck us with.”

Jim clicked his tongue. “Or your neo-hippiness would have rubbed off on your other partner.”

“Hey, there have been times when my neo-hippiness has opened doors,” Blair said primly. “Better than looking all scary and intimidating.”

“And that has helped too.” Jim protested.

“You mean sometimes making the suspect wet their pants in fear?”

Jim broke out laughing again and Blair felt a grin come to his face. It took a couple of minutes before Jim’s laughter finally subsided.

“I’ll say this Chief,” Jim glanced at him with a grin. “Your sense of humour has improved over the years. Now If I could get you to stop trying to get me to drink that green sludge you call a drink…”

Blair just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He’d missed it, missed this. It was good to have their banter back. This case had sucked any sort of humour right out of Jim. He looked at Jim and just grinned.

“I suppose I could spoil you and put a banana in it.”

“Yeah, that’s spoiling me all right. Be still my beating heart.”

“Oh shut up man.”

___________________________________________________________

The motel room was pitch-black when Sam woke suddenly. They’d only gotten here a couple of hours ago, put things away, and then had a quick talk with Jim and Blair. It had been an hour before they had left and Sam had called and set an appointment for them in the morning at the Cascade Historical Society before he and Dean could go crawl into bed.

Sam only woke up when something was seriously wrong. He slid his hand quietly under the pillow, grasping the blessed hunting knife underneath. It took a few more seconds of listening to figure out what had woken him.

Dean was in the other bed, tossing and turning. The bed was creaking with his movements. There was a frown on his face. Sam got up and crept over, hunting knife left behind. Dean usually slept like a rock when he could. Dean’s movements grew more frantic. Sam sat on the side of the bed.

“Dean,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Everything is fine.”

Dean’s movements slowed a little bit. But he was still frowning. Sam managed to nudge Dean over before he lifted the sheets and slid his body underneath. It worked. Dean’s tossing and turning subsided. He moved in closer to Dean, peering up. The frown on Dean’s face was slowly easing up. He shifted his body, making himself more comfortable. Dean’s arm was flung across the other pillow, so Sam just rested his head on his brother’s arm and closed his eyes.

It took a while to get back to sleep.

___________________________________________________________

Dean hated doing the shit like this. Why couldn’t they have done this at a strip joint or some other place remotely interesting? He and Sam were sitting in some guy’s office, waiting for him to show up. After some discussion, Dean had won out, and they have come here as FBI agents. Sam had wanted to try posing as grad students. In all honesty, Dean didn’t know the first thing about that kind of academic crap. Plus, FBI carried way more clout than some pimply faced grad student.

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice was a bit sharp. Dean glanced over to where Sam was sitting up properly in the chair. Dean had slumped down and was currently making a variety of noises. He looked over at Sam questioningly. Sam gave him a very pointed look and motioned for him to sit up properly. Dean made a face and did so.

“Man, just once I’d like one of our cases to be at a strip joint. That’s not asking for too much, is it?”

“You are such a perv.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“I prefer to call it the appreciation of the human body, thanks.” Dean sniped back.

Sam sounded like he wanted to say something but it got choked out by snickers. Dean made a face at Sam, looking around the office now. There was a glass paned cabinet along the wall, holding a bunch of curios. Tobacco pipes, old sepia photos crinkled with age and other things were jammed inside. Dean got up from his seat and walked over, peering inside. There was a really old photo in the back, showing five people standing in the middle of a street. Shops lined the side and they all seemed appropriately sombre. Dean squinted, looking at one of the men in the photo. He looked oddly familiar for some reason. The sound of footsteps made him turn and look at the door.

A few seconds later, a shadow appeared on the other side of the frosted glass. Someone fumbled with the doorknob. Dean stepped forward and opened the door. He found himself looking at a man with an armful of papers staring at him like he’d seen a ghost.

“Mr Smith?” Dean asked after glancing at the door.

“Oh! You must be Agent Winston and Agent May. Forgive my tardiness. I’ve been positively swamped since poor Mrs. Hawkins. I’m Dave Smith”

Dean closed the door behind Dave and went back to his seat. Dave dumped the pile of papers in his hands on the desktop and sat down with an exhausted sigh. He looked between Sam and Dean before he folded his hands on top of the pile.

“So, how can I help you gentlemen?”

“Uh, if this is a bad time –” Sam began.

“Well, there’s never a good time. This is honestly the best you’ll get.”

Sam glanced at him before he spoke. “We understand Alice Hawkins ran into some difficulty with her research.”

“She did. She was researching Mistress Agatha Gertrude Schneider. The Schneiders didn’t want her poking into their family history. But Alice was determined to see if the old rumours had any truth to them.”

“Old rumours?” Dean quickly latched onto that.

Dave nodded his head. “According to the old folktales, old Aggie was a witch. Quite a powerful one at that. She was feared, but her capital was needed to help get the town going.”

“These, ah, folktales say anything else?” Dean pressed.

“You wouldn’t believe some of the things they said. Aggie used her witchcraft to ensure the town’s prosperity but she felt she didn’t get her due. Edmund Cornwalis refused to marry her. Or as it was put, ‘to marry the spawn of Satan himself.’ That put old Aggie out something. She had to marry some poor gent she deemed, ‘unworthy.’ Popped out a few kids for him, resenting him all the while. When he died under some mysterious circumstances, she holed herself and her kids up in her mansion up in the hills. That only fuelled the rumours about her.”

“So she wasn’t well liked?” Sam asked.

“Good Lord no. She was a nasty piece of work. Kept only black indentured ‘servants’,” Dave made a face of distaste. “Who kept mysteriously dying. Believed in the superiority of whites, that homosexuals should burn in hell. I could go on. By the time she was seventy, one of her servants managed to escape and sought the aid of the local pastor. Once word got out of what she was apparently doing up there, they whole town was baying for the witch’s blood. Only when they got there, she was dead already. Throat had been slit wide open and she was left to bleed out. The only problem was that everyone else in the house was dead as well. No one knows what really happened in that house.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about this.” Dean finally said when Dave paused.

“It is my job. Plus there’s a family connection. My great-great-great grandfather was the pastor who helped the poor man. I believe his name was Twyuga.”

Dean glanced at Sam before he looked back at Dave. “So all the town founders have descendants still living?”

“Yup, but not in the town. They’re elsewhere, but they send regular donations for the upkeep of our little historical society. Though, I haven’t seen Edward around here much. I was away on leave for a bit. They called me back when Miss Hawkins was found murdered.”

“Did you know her well?”

“Just professionally,” Dave started digging through the pile. “In fact, I found this in my inbox this morning. It’s actually dated the day before she was killed. Freaked me out a little bit. Thought I was getting messages from the dead until I saw the postmark.”

Dave handed over a thick sealed envelope. Dean reached forward and took it. It felt weighty and slightly springy. He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat.

“Aren’t you a little bit worried?” Dean asked. “With all the murders?”

“It wasn’t just Alice Hawkins?” Dave sounded a little bit surprised.

“No,” Sam jumped in and began reading names from a notepad. “Alan Twyuga, Gwen Williams, Edward Cornwalis, Lyndsay Rutherford and Alice Hawkins all died in the past month and a half. Did you know any one besides Alice and Edward?”

Dave sank back in his chair, looking like someone had just punched him in the gut. “Er, no. Just Alice and Edward. But I do believe that Lyndsay Rutherford was an activist with the gay community… and God,” he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to have to call Shannon and apologise. I left a rather scathing message asking where the hell Edward was. Poor girl. She’s eight months along. Edward was so damned happy…”

“Just one more question and we’ll be out of your way.” Dean said. “Where exactly was the house located?”

“The Schneider family relocated in town after the mysterious murders. But the old house was up in the Big Bear Mountain area, by the border of the Mt Baker National Park. The new house is on the lower south side of town. I don’t know if you’ll get in. The Schneider family is notoriously reclusive.”

Sam glanced at Dean as he stood up. “Thank you for your time and co-operation.”

“Not a problem.” Dave clasped his hands together, but Dean didn’t miss the tremors. “By the by, if that package is what I think it is, I don’t want it back. You can keep it.”

“Thanks.” Dean said as he held it up in acknowledgement.

As soon as they were out of the office and walking down the hall, Dean tucked the package under his arm and loosened his tie.

“Damned skeevy witches,” He grumbled as they got to the front door. “Seriously man, why can’t they just decide, ‘Hey, maybe I don’t need a body count. I could knit or something.’”

“Well we know what Alice was trying to spell out. The name of her killer.”

“Yeah a murdered witch with a thing for gory death. I’m telling you man, nothing good comes from people that are that unhygienic.” Dean shuddered and made a face of disgust.

“Okay, so a murdered witch comes back to wreak revenge on the town that turned its back on her,” Sam said as he opened the door. “But look at this place. It’s pretty damned prosperous. That takes some serious mojo.”

“So we should be asking who could knock off the candidate for bitch of the year, circa late nineteenth century?” Dean yanked the tie off and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Or what.” Sam said.

“You think a demon or something ganked her?” Dean stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Sam.

Sam paused now, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think we need to see what’s in the package.”

Dean nodded his head in agreement. They walked back to the car in silence. When he opened the driver’s door, he tossed the package inside and then rested his arms on the top. Sam paused, looking at him.

“Seriously, skeevy witches...” Dean shuddered again.

“Yeah, you hate them.” Sam said. “Just get in the car and drive.”

___________________________________________________________


	4. Chapter 4

Blair was starting to feel a little bit worried now. His watch said it was just after three in the afternoon. So did the clock on Simon’s desk. He hadn’t heard back from Sam yet. It really didn’t help that he and Jim were in Simon’s office and Simon was looking at them awaiting an answer.

If there was ever a time that Blair wanted his cell to ring, this was it.

“Well?” Simon repeated

When Jim glanced at Blair, it was hard for Blair to just not sigh in frustration. Simon had dealt with a lot from them. And they’d consistently delivered results. But this might seriously be stretching it too far. Simon would kick them off the case and insist they see the department shrink.

“Is there something I’m missing here? I thought I was getting a progress report from you two.”

Simon was glaring at them now. Might as well just bite the bullet on this one and deal with whatever happened.

“Okay, now hear us out,” Blair began. “Because we seriously didn’t believe it at first.”

Simon’s eyes widened at that and then narrowed. “I’m listen –”

A chime came from Blair’s pocket. He dug into it and looked at the screen to see ‘Sam Winchester’ right on the LCD display. He hit the ignore button and stuck the phone back in his pocket. He could answer, but then he’d be leaving Jim to handle this on his own. Blair wasn’t willing to do something like that when it was something this weird.

“Don’t need to get that?” Simon groused.

Blair paused for a moment, regarding Simon. He seemed crankier than usual and he only got like that when… “Who’s breathing down your neck now?”

“The police chiefs. They want this serial killer stopped. And considering it’s been almost two months and nothing yet, they’ve authorised me to put all our available people on this as of yesterday.” Simon paused. “So unless you’re going to tell me that you’ve got a suspect…”

“We do,” Jim fell silent for a moment. “Sort of.”

“How do you ‘sort of’ have a suspect?” Simon tried and failed to hide his confusion.

“Uh… well…” Blair really wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

“Look, would one of you spit it out? I’ve got to report back with an action plan. The sooner this psycho is off the streets, the better.”

“Um, our perp is a dead person?” Blair wished he didn’t sound so damned hesitant.

Simon stared at him like he grew another head. Then he looked at Jim and asked, “Is he feeling all right?”

Blair looked over at Jim. There was a thoughtful look on his face before he finally spoke. There was a weird look of determination in his eyes that made Blair wonder what Jim was going to say. He really hoped it didn’t bite both of them in the ass.

“I know it sounds crazy, but that is what all the evidence is pointing to. Necrotic tissue found at two of the crime scenes, ritualistic murder and –”

“And I think you two have finally lost it.” Simon was rubbing his forehead with both his hands. “Seriously, you think a dead person is running around Cascade and killing people?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but have you ever known me to just come up with random theories?” Jim said.

Simon sat back in his chair and looked at them both for a moment. “And this is what you both think?”

Blair just nodded his head. This was not going to end well. When Simon shifted, Blair just knew that the axe had fallen.

“You two are off the case.”

“Simon –” Jim began.

“I’m sorry Jim,” Simon shook his head. “But I seriously think the stress of this case might be playing a factor. I mean honestly, a corpse walking around and killing people? What is this, The Mummy?”

“Okay, look, just cut me from the case,” Blair pleaded. “Jim can –”

“What part of, ‘the both of you’ don’t you understand,” Simon said as he got up from his chair. “Look, just take a week off, go see the department shrink and get your heads on straight again.”

“Simon, I really wish I was making this up.” Jim said. “I mean, I know what it sounds like. Sounds like Chief and I here have jumped onto the crazy bandwagon.”

“Realising that now, are you?” Simon asked dryly.

“Look, all we’re asking for is forty eight hours,” Jim said. “Give us that long to solve this.”

Simon didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You two are off for a week. If you can do it discreetly, then fine. I really don’t want to have to explain why two of my finest officers are spouting all these insane theories.”

“Thanks Simon.” Blair was trying very hard to not gush with relief.

“You two have a week. After that, if the case is still active, I don’t want to hear a word about –”

The door to Simon’s office burst open. Carolyn was there, hanging off the door frame and a hand on the doorknob. She looked frazzled.

“We have another victim Sir. Up in the suburbs.”

Jim made a motion to the door, but Blair grabbed his arm. Simon snagged his jacket from the wall hook nearby before he looked back at them.

“That conversation we just had… doesn’t happen for another hour or so. And that’s the most I can do. After you look around the crime scene…”

“Got it.” Blair gave him a thumb up.

Carolyn looked around for a second before she released the doorjamb and stepped aside, making room. Simon just walked from the office shaking his head and mumbling to himself. Carolyn followed after him, giving them an apologetic look as she closed the door behind her. As soon as the door was shut, Jim turned to face him.

“There was no way that was going to end well, was there?” Blair said.

“No way in hell,” Jim agreed. “Who called?”

“Sam. You go down to the crime scene and see what you can find. I’ll call Sam back and see what he and Dean have dug up. If we co-ordinate this right –”

“The sooner it gets resolved.” Jim opened the door. “I’ll call you when I’m leaving.”

Blair just nodded his head as he got his cell phone out. Calling Sam back had to be the least stressful part of his day. The phone rang a few times and by the time Blair had followed Jim outside, Sam had picked up.

 _“Hey, we have something.”_ Sam’s voice sounded a bit tired.

“At least that’s some good news.” Blair said.

Jim had paused, lingering close to him. Blair waved him off towards the pick-up truck while mouthing ‘Crime scene.’ Jim frowned but jogged over to his truck and got in.

 _“What happened?”_ Sam’s voice sounded a bit distant and Blair could hear papers shuffling in the background.

“We’re not officially on the case. We’ve got a week’s leave. Need to see the department shrink.” Blair paused. “Jim wants it resolved in forty eight hours.”

 _“Forty eight hours?”_

“Are you guys still at Finch’s Inn? I’ll just swing by.” Blair watched as Jim’s truck left the parking lot and pulled out into traffic.

 _“Yeah, we’re back here. Made a lot of progress. Turns out Agatha was a witch. Basically, she’s back for revenge. At least, that’s what we think. She died under some very mysterious circumstances.”_

“Mysterious how?”

 _“As in when the townspeople came, they found her dead. Her throat had been slashed.”_ Sam paused and Blair could just hear the sound of pages turning. _“Turns out Alice Hawkins somehow managed to get a hold of Agatha’s personal journal.”_

“And?”

 _“Well, Agatha was something of a bigoted racist.”_

There was a sharp back of laughter in the background that must have come from Dean. Blair almost wished he’d told Jim to stay. He could hear Dean muttering now and would have loved to know what he was grumbling about.

 _“And it turns out she was trying to find a way to make herself immortal.”_

“I’m guessing that didn’t work out so well for her.”

 _“Could you tell?”_ Dean’s voice was loud and clear.

Blair removed the phone from his ear and looked at it before he put it back and asked, “Am I on speaker phone?”

 _“Yes. Look, it’s kind of complicated. Just come by and we’ll explain everything.” Sam said quickly._

“Works for me. I’m not really supposed to be around the station anyway. I’m not looking forward to spending time with the shrink.” Blair sighed as he patted himself down for his keys. Then he realised they were in his jacket pocket. And then realised his jacket was still on the back of his chair by his desk. “Man, today isn’t my day.”

 _“Pardon?”_ Sam sounded confused now.

“Never mind. It’s okay. See you in a bit.”

 _“All right. Later.”_

Blair shut his phone and turned to trudge back into the station. He almost wanted to say that this day couldn’t possibly get any worse. As if on cue, an ominous rumble came from the sky. He looked up and finally noticed how overcast it was. And then it started raining. Blair really, really felt like swearing. It was as if someone, somewhere was laughing at him. Too bad it was for all the wrong damned reasons. He jogged inside, getting out of the rain. He really couldn’t wait for this to be over with.

___________________________________________________________

Jim felt like he was living in some surreal world and he didn’t know how to get out of it. He could never understand Alice In Wonderland when he was a kid. And here he had tumbled head first down the rabbit hole with Blair along for company.

The crime scene was cordoned off, the spectators kept a good distance back so they couldn’t see what had happened. The victim was another young man murdered right in a children’s park. The pattern made no discernible sense to him. He really hoped Blair was having more luck on his end. And that Dean and Sam had found something, anything, useful.

Keith was already there, inspecting the small bits of internal parts that were scattered about. That was a new one. Lin, his assistant, looked a bit haggard but was going through her duties. Jim came over to them, crouching down. The smell was something Jim didn’t think he’d ever really get used to.

“Hey Jim,” Lin’s voice was quiet. He glanced at her. She looked a bit green around the gills.

“You feeling okay?” Jim murmured.

Lin nodded her head jerkily. “I came back from the Caymans the long way since there was a storm and my flight was delayed. You do not want to know how many airports I have been in. I landed to find that I had to come right into work. I am tired, cranky and this…” she gestured to the body with a shake of her head. “I was not expecting, or prepared, for this. But I will survive.”

“I know. It’s…” Jim trailed off, unsure of what to really say. Blair was better at this sort of stuff.

Lin, thankfully just clapped him on the shoulder. “The victim is in their late thirties. About thirty six, thirty seven would be my guess. Initial canvassing says his name is Malcolm Smith. The same digital indentations are found on the inside of the sternum, indicating that bare hands were used. Now, did Keith have a chance to brief you on what he discovered?”

“No,” Jim glanced over to the medical examiner. The man was engrossed in all the bits scattered about. “I don’t think he will today.”

“All right, then I’ll cut to the chase. The hearts are missing.”

“Strange.” Jim couldn’t think of a single reason for that. Well, a single sane reason.

“Quite. I’m inclined to think there might be some ritualistic aspect to these murders, but that’s just my two cents. I will bet you anything that this poor man is missing his heart as well.” Lin was silent for a moment before she shook her head. “I seriously cannot understand this…”

“Don’t try to,” Jim lapsed into silence for a moment. “Anything else really?”

Lin shook her head. “If anything else does come up though, I will verify it with Keith first and then have it on your desk as soon as possible. And Lucky’s. Where is my little fuzzy haired geek anyhow?”

“Trying to see if he can dig up some leads.” Jim stood up now.

Lin did the same, only stretching her arms above her head. When she was done, she just let her arms flop back down to her sides. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can. That is the Lin Ming guarantee.”

“Good as gold to me.” Jim qupped.

That got a wan smile out of Lin before she turned back to the body. Keith was a few meters away still, distracted by his task. Jim went back to the truck and sat there for a moment. Then he pulled out his cell and quickly dialled Blair’s number. The phone rang for an unusually long time. Jim was on the verge of worrying when Blair finally picked up.

 _“Hey man. I was wondering when you’d call.”_

“Just finished at the crime scene. Same MO as before. Only now, it’s pretty much been verified: each of the victims is missing their heart.”

 _“Gross. So they might be using them for something?”_

“Damned if I know. I’m leaving now. Where are you?”

 _“At Finch’s Inn with Dean and Sam. Second floor this time, room two one five.”_

“All right, I’ll be right there.”

 _“‘kay. See you in a bit man.”_

Jim hung up and shoved the phone back into his jacket. He started the engine and left the crime scene. Once he was a good distance away, his foot flattened on the gas pedal. When he got to Finch’s Inn, he pulled the car into an available parking spot. Then a quick jog to the stairs, and he bounded up them before dashing down the hall, he was barely out of breath and feeling very wound up. He knocked on the room door. Pounded was probably the better word to use. But hey, po-ta-to, po-tah-to and there was a dead thing that needed to be killed again. The door opened and Blair blinked at him in surprise.

“Man, did you run some red lights? You only called me fifteen minutes ago. Where did you come from?”

“Magnotta Hills, just at the very edge of the suburbs.” Jim strode into the room. “Looks like you guys are making more progress than me.”

The table in the room was covered in a few sheets of paper. A bed was devoid of anything. The other bed was covered with an assortment of weapons. Guns, knives, bottles of water, stakes, a wicked looking machete… and Jim was pretty sure he just fell a little bit further down the rabbit hole. Dean was seated at the head of the weapon-covered bed, checking over a handgun. The cop in Jim wanted to ask if he had a license for it. The other part of him that was wound tight was very happy to see that it was a Desert Eagle. Nothing said, ‘I’m serious about getting this thing good and dead’ quite like the Desert Eagle. Sam looked up from the table and smiled in greeting before looking at the laptop screen again, face creased with concentration. Blair seemed happy and less stressed than he had for a long while now.

“There is a lot to get through. You want to have a seat?” Blair didn’t give him a chance to actually reply. Just sort of dragged the chair closer and made Jim sit.

Dean finally looked up from the gun, momentarily amused before he turned his attention back to it again. Blair was pacing a bit, rubbing his chin in thought before he came to a stop in front of Jim.

“Okay, for starters, our dead, reanimated witch with a grudge, she’s something called a revenant.” Blair seized a book and practically jammed it under Jim’s nose. If Jim wasn’t used to these ‘academic fits’ Blair sometimes had, Jim would have told him to bend over so he could ram the book right up his ass and then walked away. “And she seems to be the second kind of revenant.”

“There are kinds?” Jim was going to need some clarification. He took the book slowly from Blair.

Blair nodded and Jim was finding himself a little discomfited by how easily Blair was taking to this stuff. Almost like a duck to water. He looked at the book, seeing old wood carvings. There was a picture of three women. They seemed fairly young and there was a young man on his knees before them. It made Jim think of someone who had been granted something and was very grateful. Or he’d been condemned and was pleading for his life. Blair waved a hand in front of his face, catching his attention once more.

“One kind of revenant comes back to see justice fulfilled I guess you could say. They come back for a specific purpose. They achieve their purpose and go right back to being dead. The second kind comes back and just wreaks havoc and chaos. I’d say that Aggie falls into the second category.”

Jim was also inclined to believe that. There was a body count to back this up.

“Now, Aggie was about twenty when she started this journal. But I really hesitate to call it that. It’s more like a grimoire.”

“Uh,” Jim was pretty sure at some point a rabbit with a pocket watch would come hopping by. That’s how ridiculous this seemed to have gotten. “Did you just say a grim noire?”

“Grimoire,” Blair patiently repeated. “A book on magic. Some pretty dark stuff. The ritual she has in here, it looks like it’s designed to call down something. But what –”

A burst of swearing from Sam made everyone turn to look at him. He was looking at the laptop screen intently. Jim could hear how his breathing seemed a little bit harsher and how his heart rate sped up slightly. This wasn’t good in the slightest.

“Idisi,” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “That’s what she was trying to call down.”

“Would you quit speaking in tongues?” Dean asked.

Sam pursed his lips in annoyance as he swivelled in his seat. “This text uses the word ‘idisi’ and ‘disir’ interchangeably. At first I thought they were talking about two separate things. But they’re not; they’re synonymous.”

Whatever Sam was talking about, it couldn’t be good. Blair seemed to be easily following so far. Dean looked like he was waiting for Sam to get to the real crux of the matter. Jim was more with Dean on this one.

“Okay, look,” Sam picked up the laptop and brought it over to Dean. “Anything seem familiar about them?”

There was a pronounced silence from Dean as he looked at the screen. “There’s three of them.”

“Anything else?”

“Uh…” Dean gave up after a second and shrugged.

Sam must have been used to this, since he simply took a deep breath. “The notes in Aggie’s grimoire don’t make sense unless you know what to look for. Dean, she combined a summoning ritual with a blood sacrifice in order to summon disir.”

“Disir?” Dean paused, thinking.”You don’t mean –”

“The Norns. As in the Fates themselves.” Sam finished as he put his laptop back on the table.

Jim hadn’t thought it possible for someone’s eyebrows to try and escape. But Dean’s were doing an excellent job at the moment. There was a cross look on Dean’s face for a long moment. Jim glanced at Blair to see a look of dawning realisation on his face. Jim was momentarily puzzled until he saw Blair mumble something about blood.

“The hearts.” Jim said.

“That’s a pretty bloody sacrifice,” Blair paused.”But a revenant coming up with this on their own…”

“There must be somebody controlling the revenant.” Sam added, going back to the laptop. The keys clicked under his fingertips for a few moments. “Otherwise, she would have just killed indiscriminately. There is a definite pattern to the murders.”

“Wow, this takes a special kind of stupid.” Dean’s expression was grim now as he finished off with the gun and started packing up a bag. “How is it ever a good idea to summon something that can royally fuck you over while alive and dead?”

“Never is.” Sam said wearily.

“Which means we need to figure out who is controlling the revenant before we –” Dean started.

“Someone in the Schneider family.” Jim interrupted. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Blair just shook his head. “Oh man, it does make perfect sense. Why they didn’t want the grave disturbance reported, why they’re so secretive…”

“But I don’t think we should go poking around the family yet,” Sam said as he walked over to the calendar on the wall. “I can’t believe we overlooked something so obvious.”

“What?” Dean got up and came over.

Jim glanced at Blair. When Blair looked at him expectantly, Jim just shrugged. “Don’t look at me Chief. I’m still trying to keep up with all of this stuff.”

“There’s a difference between just thinking about it, and treating it as a totally valid theory,” Blair paused. “It takes some getting used to.”

A soft curse from Dean made Jim look back over to the men huddled over the calendar. It was a long moment before Dean spoke.

“It’s Beltane. Whatever they’re trying, they’re going to do it tonight.” Dean looked extremely pissed off now.

“Do you know how to get to Big Bear Mountain?” Sam asked as he dropped the calendar. It flopped against the wall with a soft smack.

Jim got up from his seat. “Yeah. The national park runs along one side of the mountain. Something there?”

“The old family mansion. If there was ever a place to try and summon the freakin’ Fates,” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “That would be it.”

“Where it was first tried. Do you think they might try and tap into anything residual?” Sam questioned as he moved back to the table.

“Probably,” Dean snagged his jacket from the head bedpost. “I’ll go and see if I can dig up anything at the occult stores. I’ll grab lunch too.”

Sam just grunted in assent and Dean was gone in a swirl of leather and the scent of gun cleaning fluid. Jim walked over to the table, pulling a map out from the inner pocket of his jacket. Sam moved his laptop over to make room. Blair came over, cell phone out already. He was probably calling to find out the exact co-ordinates of the old mansion.

Jim really hoped it would be all over tonight.

___________________________________________________________

Dean was really quiet. Sam glanced over at him every so often, as he picked his way up the path behind Blair and Jim, trying to see if something would slip. But Dean still had that same poker expression he had since they parked the cars at one of the parking lots and started up Big Bear Mountain.

The late morning had been so productive it was kind of hard to believe. By the time Dean got back with a borrowed book in hand and a box full of lunch, they had the probable location of the mansion marked on the map, as well as the locations of all the murders.

It was a haphazard line, but it was slowly moving towards that old mansion.

They got to the national park early and parked their cars along with the multitude of others. Anything that would help them blend in and not tip off the witch was needed. Sam had a gut feeling that tonight would not be easy in any manner. Of course, that could also be nerves speaking.

But Dean seemed rattled by something. Either was not willing to share it or he’d get it out when he felt ready. Either way Sam really didn’t like to see Dean like this. However he kept his mouth shut and kept on hiking. It took almost another hour of trudging through the forest before Jim signaled for them to halt. Dean paused, inhaling deeply. Jim, Sam noticed, was also doing the same.

Dean spoke, finally breaking the silence. “Kerosene.”

“They’re here already,” Jim fell silent for a moment. “We need to get closer.”

“Not too close. We don’t want the revenant focusing on us,” Dean dropped the weapon bag down beside Sam. “Should probably be able to smell that thing from a mile off if we come across a trail. We need to scout ahead.”

“Agreed” was the only thing Jim replied with.

“Sam, just stay here and keep an eye out, okay?” Dean murmured as he looked at him. “There’s something about this that I don’t like.”

Sam just nodded his head, reaching down to grasp the handle of the weapons bag. There was a worried look in Dean’s eyes that made Sam want to ask him what was wrong. He’d take the girl jokes for as long as he needed to. Jim waited until Dean drew level with him and they disappeared into the undergrowth. Spying a nearby log, Sam walked over to it and cautiously sat himself down on it. The log creaked a bit, but it bore his weight. Blair came over and sat down beside him.

“Hey man,” Blair looked over at him. “How are you doing?”

The question was so bluntly put that it surprised Sam a little bit. But he took it in stride. He just shrugged loosely before he said, “I’m doing okay. I’m doing better honestly.”

And it was the truth. Dean was getting better at using his senses and Sam was sure it wouldn’t be long now that he started pointing out things Dean shouldn’t be doing. Sam foresaw a lot of nights in bars and Dean picking out the girls with no bras on. Things would go back to the way they were. Blair just smiled at him and then patted him on the shoulder.

“Good to hear. You seemed kind of… tense and unsure before.”

Sam really didn’t need to be reminded of that. He just gave a vague nod in agreement and was about to say something when the snap of a tree branch echoed around them. Blair reacted the same way he did: reaching for a hidden gun, finger hovering by the safety. There came the sound of something rustling in the bushes but it wandered off a few minutes later. They sat back down on the log, tucking their weapons back into place.

“Man, I feel so jumpy it’s not even funny.” Blair said after an explosive sigh.

Sam just clapped him on the shoulder. “You get used to –”

His words were interrupted by an alien looking hand entering his peripheral vision a split second before it grabbed his head and knocked it hard against Blair’s. Stars and black motes danced in his vision as Sam lurched to his feet, turning around. Blair was sprawled on the ground, unconscious, with a nasty looking gash above his ear bleeding copiously. Sam’s vision was clearing rapidly as he backed away from whatever had attacked him and Blair.

The whatever stood behind the log, looking at him balefully. It must have been a person at one point, but the body looked distorted. Not distorted from the slow decay of natural decomposition, but distorted in a more Frankenstein manner. Like someone had taken a corpse and stretched them out slightly. Long arms dangled past the knees of long legs. The torso was thin and almost concave. The clothes that hung from the body were from a completely different time period, but ragged and filthy. The hair that hung from the scalp was thin in spots, thick in others and straggled. The skin was waxy looking sort of grey colour, wrinkled and dessicated in some spots and perfectly smooth in others.

But the face that looked at Sam…

The features were stretched as well, imparting a crazed, almost feral look. It didn’t help that those eyes were a pale, almost burning, blue colour. It stared at him for a long moment before it took a step forward. Jesus Christ, it didn’t make a damned sound when it moved on the forest floor. The twig snapping had been a ruse to get them to lower their guard somewhat. He remembered Dean and Jim breathing, smelling something. All Sam smelled was a slightly off-scent, like when something was on the verge of spoiling. Nothing else.

“Agatha,” Sam said as he slowly moved his arm back to where he had tucked his gun away.

The revenant gave a low, wheezing rattle as it inhaled. “Tainted one.”

Sam’s heart froze in his chest. Could it smell the demon blood in him? It seemed a bit preoccupied now. Sam pulled his gun out and fired. Or rather, he tried to. Agatha moved like a blur, grasping the hand with the gun and viciously twisting. Sam could feel the bones straining, almost at the breaking point. The gun dropped from his fingers. Agatha released some of the pressure on his wrist before holding him up close to her face. Sam could smell a sickly sweet sort of grave stench come gusting out of her warped mouth. It literally made him gag and almost retch.

No wonder Agatha had been able to rack up a high body count so quickly. Sam had a feeling it might have been more than the six victims if the person holding the leash didn’t keep it tight.

“We need you.”

Agatha’s words forced more of that ghastly stench into Sam’s face. There was no getting around it. And while it wasn’t something that he planned, Sam retched right down the front of Agatha’s rotting clothes and on her feet. She froze for a few seconds in disbelief. Sam didn’t waste it, worrying about the lingering taste of vomit in his mouth. He jerked his leg up and managed to grab the small back-up automatic he kept holstered there.

It wasn’t so much a blind firing. Sam jabbed the muzzle of the gun right against Agatha’s shoulder and tried to empty the entire clip into her. She dropped him after the first two shots hit home. He landed on the ground hard but didn’t stop shooting. A few more bullets hit her and black blood seeped out from the bullet wounds. But she didn’t seemed fazed. A snarl came to her face as she strode over to Sam and grabbed him by the forearm. She pulled him up off the ground as if he weighed nothing.

The last thing Sam saw was an abnormally large fist coming down towards his temple.

___________________________________________________________

“That fuckin’ sonofabitch is dead.” Dean growled.

It was more that he was saying it aloud to try and comfort himself. Jim wasn’t with him, tending to Blair’s wound and general confusion. When Dean had heard the gunshot, he’d paused for all of two seconds before racing back to where Sam and Blair were. He couldn’t say what had really prompted him, but the sudden icy clutch of fear had helped. He rarely felt that. When he did, it hadn’t been wrong and he had to fight tooth and nail for something.

The ground seemed to fall out from under him when he got back. Blair had been sprawled on the ground, bleeding and unconscious. The weapon bag was resting by a log behind Blair’s body, seemingly abandoned. There was churned earth by the log, and Dean could make out the tread marks from one of Sam’s sneakers. There was a puddle of vomit amid the churned earth. The sickly sweet stench reached his nose and seemed almost like a slap in the face.

It also seemed to trigger an almost overwhelming rage. For a moment, everything had seemed almost hazy. Dean struggled to at least calm himself back down to a rational level. It took almost a full minute but he managed it, cobbling together a plan.

Jim had appeared then and started tending to Blair. Dean had grabbed the weapons bag and Jim had waved him off a bit absently. Said something about ‘back-up as soon as possible.’ All Dean knew was that something kidnapped his little brother. It was quite simple really: that damned thing was going to die after Dean incapacitated it in order to prevent escape. In Dean’s opinion, the sooner it died then the better he would feel. It wasn’t the best plan, but it would be quick and fast, not to mention it had the added benefit of inflicting maximum damage quickly.

It hadn’t been hard to come across the trail of the revenant. It had a scent that stank of something corrupted. When he had noticed the brush thinning he’d slowed down, lingering in the deeper part of the forest. After a minute, he could see through the brush to the ruins of the mansion.

The only thing that was left was the ground floor. The remaining walls were jagged, looking almost like teeth, emerging from the ground. The steps up into the house were half rotted with huge holes. Dean could imagine that the floor was just as rotted, but that apparently hadn’t stopped the witch. They were busying themselves with something. Dean narrowed his eyes, mentally willing them person to turn around. As if in compliance, the figure turned.

“A guy? You gotta be kidding me.” Dean mumbled under his breath. “A fuckin’ male witch. This day gets better and better.”

The revenant was standing just off to the side. Well, the thing that Dean assumed was the revenant. It barely looked human by any means. And there in front of it, bound and gagged was Sam. He was kneeling and working his jaw, slowly moving the gag away from his mouth. One side of his face was covered in blood, forcing him to keep one eye closed. Sam looked so spitting mad that if he could free himself, that witch would have all six foot four inches of Winchester right in his face giving him hell.

It was odd seeing it. Relief washed through Dean, seeing that Sam was okay. But at the same time seeing him bound and gagged, while being watched over by something so unnatural was not fucking okay. He took a couple of deep breaths, calming himself down. Blind rage wasn’t going to do him any good here. He’d just go charging in all half-cocked and fuck things up brilliantly.

What he needed to do was separate the revenant from the witch. Divide and conquer. It was the oldest trick in the book and work a good portion of the time. And if this witch was too dumb to realise it, then they needed to die. Dean vaguely wondered if Darwinism could apply to half of the weird situations he and Sam encountered. Pushing the thought aside, he dug into the weapons bag. He could try to snipe the witch from here, but there wasn’t a single damned rifle in this bag. Making a face, he pulled out his Colt and released the safety.

Better to try this with a gun that was like an extension of his own hand.

The witch had to be about five hundred yards away. It was extremely iffy if he was going to hit something on the witch. He’d try for the revenant, but he didn’t want to wing Sam. He only had about an hour or so left before the sun started setting. There was no way that he wanted to attempt taking on the revenant in conditions like that. Taking a deep breath, he aimed the Colt. The witch moved about, and Dean waited until the right shot presented itself.

It came when the witch faced the forest towards him. There was a smug sanctimonious look on that damned face. A scowl came to Dean’s face as he fired rapidly, emptying the clip. There was a look of confusion on the witch’s face and then two small sprays of blood. The witch clutched at their left arm, blood flowing down their arm. Dean didn’t wait to see what else the witch did, grabbing a fresh clip and sliding it in before he flipped the safety and tucked the gun back into its usual spot. Then he grabbed the Desert Eagle and ducked behind a tree trunk. He slowly turned up his hearing now.

The forest was unnaturally quiet around here. Dean could hear something wheezing, as if struggling for breath. There was also the sound of a heart beating frantically. And there was one that was calm and steady.

“Something wrong?” Sam’s voice was mocking.

There came the sound of rapid steps and then of flesh hitting flesh. Dean’s grip on the handle of the gun tightened. He knew that sound. The witch was going to lose their hands for daring to strike his Sammy. He gritted his teeth, wondering if he’d have to fire at the witch again and hope for some more sheer dumb luck when he finally heard something he wanted.

“Agatha, go find out who shot me. Kill them and then come back here, so we can perform the ritual,” The voice was cold and then spoke once more in condescension. “You shall be the perfect sacrifice. Young, strong… vital... innocent and corrupted… they’ll be pleased.”

“If it didn’t work for Agatha, what makes you think it’ll work for you?” Sam demanded.

Dean would have listened. But he heard a strange whispering sound now, coming directly towards him. It had to be the revenant. He had barely leapt away from the tree trunk and turned around, when the revenant was damned well on him. A large hand came raking down towards him, long, spindly fingers clawed. The lips on that strange face were pulled back to reveal a mouth full of broken teeth. This was the kind of shit that should be in movies to make kids pee their pants and stay up late from fright.

He ducked out of the way, barely avoiding the hand. But then a foot came lashing out and caught him between the legs. He went down in spectacular tangle of limbs, the gun skittering from his grasp. Fuck. He scrambled towards it. It was just within reach when an iron grip clutched his ankle and dragged him back. He was hoisted up by the ankle until he was eye to eye with a madly grinning face.

“Plaything.” The voice wheezed and a gust of that damned breath went past him.

“Ever heard of a tic-tac?” Dean gasped, fighting down the urge to gag. It burned in the back of his throat and he would be damned if he threw up. He was upside down, it would not end well.

“Insolent.” The wheeze sounded very annoyed.

“Sorry, I don’t kiss on the first date,” Dean reached up behind his back and grabbed his Colt, releasing the safety.

Dean shoved the gun muzzle into her belly. He was surprised by how far he had to reach before the gun finally stopped. He released all the bullets into her belly. The revenant dropped him in surprise as black blood dribbled from the wounds. The blood gave off an acidic, almost burning smell. It gave a keening cry, face upturned towards the sky. Dean wasn’t too sure if it was posturing of some sort or not, but it gave him the time he needed. He scrambled back towards the dropped gun. He grabbed the gun, turned and aimed right as the revenant dropped its head again, looking for him.

When it’s unnaturally pale eyes met his, he fired. Repeatedly.

The shots hit home, thudding into the flesh with a sickening thud. The revenant’s body went slack and collapsed to the knees before flopping face forward. The back of the skull was peppered with exit wounds, gaping and ugly with sickly, black-splotched brain matter visible. Dean got to his feet, arm starting to feel a bit numb. Too many damned shots fired in a short time frame. And more that would probably need to be fired before this was said and done.

The weapon bag lay just up ahead. Dean glanced back at the revenant, quite unwilling to leave. Things had a nasty habit of disappearing when he turned his back. After a moment, he grasped the hands and dragged it with him to the weapons bag. The skin felt mildly slimy and it was a bitch to keep a proper grip on. Dean was sure he’d be feeling it in his arms tomorrow morning.

Once he got close enough to the bag, he dropped the hands and wiped his palms off on a tree trunk. Two paths glistened in the light and Dean fought back a shudder. Fuckin’ disgusting. Nothing good ever came of getting involved with witches. He dug around in the bag and found the machete. He freed it from its sheath and quickly chopped off the revenant’s head.

This part had been far too easy. The damned witch would probably be –

A sudden breeze kicked up out of nowhere. Dean looked about and then up at the sky. It had been clear not even five minutes ago. But now, thick angry clouds rolled across it, forked with glimmers of lightning. The strange thing was that it was only in the clearing where the house was. Outside of the ring, it looked like a perfectly normal, sunny afternoon. The rain almost started immediately, pelting down and intent on drowning the world. Dean slid the machete back into the sheath as he reached in the weapons bag and grabbed the sawed-off shotgun. It was pouring fucking rain now. Dean was taking no chances, Hell if it came down to it, he’d cut the damned witch’s throat himself.

Dean could hear that cold voice now, growing in pitch and almost melding with the wind, saying something unfamiliar. Grabbing the machete again, he started running towards the ruins of the house. Thunder and lightning raged overhead. It sounded like the sky was trying to tear itself apart. The wind was howling now, the person’s voice a thin scream amongst the chaos that was swirling around them. When Dean reached the steps, he could just see Sam over the top. He was lying there on the floor, curled up. His face looked a little bit swollen and lumpy.

Anger flooded through Dean again, threatening to make him loose all control. He gritted his teeth and looked around. The witch was standing, arms outstretched to the sky, a look of ecstatic joy written on their face. The torches surrounding him in a ring were, somehow, still burning brightly. Dean ran up the steps, pumped the gun, aimed and then fired.

In all honesty, given the weather conditions that were rapidly approaching hurricane status, Dean was surprised that anything hit. The witch’s legs buckled and they fell to their knees. But they didn’t stop chanting, arms still outstretched in supplication. Dean strode over, intent on doing things the messy way when the weather suddenly died off. The witch almost fell face first on the ground. Their arms were keeping them up, but they trembled badly. The clouds dissipated and sun fell on the drenched spot, making it seem to glitter.

Dean glanced over at Sam, noticing the fresh blood welling up from a cut. A strange animal growl reached his ears. He ignored it, striding towards the witch. He drew his Colt, taking the safety off. Hopefully it wasn’t too wet. Nothing would be worse than a gun jamming when all he really wanted to do was to put one right between this idiot’s –

“Halt.”

He clenched his jaw as he turned around. There was a woman standing behind him, with an amused light in her eyes. Dean’s finger hovered above the trigger. The woman didn’t say anything for a long moment before she peered around Dean to the man still kneeling on the ground, calves seeping blood. There was something that felt slightly off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It took him a second to realise what it was.

There was an anticipation that suffused the air. It felt electric, like it was suddenly all around him. It was as heavy as the world and felt like something to push against, to rebel and rail at. He turned his head slightly to look at Sam. There was a woman, clothed in a dress, over by Sam. There was an expression on Sam’s face that Dean could read easily.

The witch had succeeded.

Dean turned around, intent on killing the witch and being done with it. Instead he found himself face to face with another woman. She stared at him, and Dean could have sworn she was trying to bore holes through his head with her eyes alone. But he met her gaze, didn’t flinch from it. He only looked away when a hand settled on his shoulder. He glanced back to see Sam looking at him. He raised an eyebrow and Sam just gave a slight shake of his head.

When he looked back at the woman, there was a sad expression in her eyes. Dean frowned a little bit before he broke the strange silence.

“Let me guess. You’re the older sister?”

She blinked at that before she broke out in a peal of laughter. It echoed with the sound of something much older and a shiver passed over Dean.

“Far from it. I’m Skuld. And I’m not pleased to be here.”

Her gaze flicked momentarily to the man still on his knees. A frown marred her face for a moment before she looked between Sam and Dean now, a smile curving her lips.

“I must say, I never expected to meet John’s boys so –”

“Skuld, hold your tongue.”

The woman who had helped Sam came over to stand beside Skuld. She seemed a little bit older and slightly put out. Skuld scowled at her.

“Do you know how many times Verda that I have –” Skuld started.

“Irrelevant,” Verda snapped back. “At least these two have the common sense to keep their mouth shuts. Well, the younger one at least. The older is so full of cheek it’s galling.”

Skuld rolled her eyes. “Why can’t I have a bit of fun? I so rarely get pulled away from my duties… even if it’s dealing with this damned family again. I thought we were done with Agatha.”

“Agatha’s dead,” Sam finally spoke. “My brother killed her.”

A surprised look flitted across Verda’s face and even Skuld seemed surprised as well. They glanced at one another. Verda was the one to break the silence.

“I daresay Urd will be pleased.” Verda rubbed at her brow for a moment. “Where is Urd anyhow?”

“Damned if I know. I was busy helping a young man out in Iraq. Gut wound. He fought so bravely to save his sister. And the next damned thing I know, I’m in the United States.”

“Not now Skuld. Help me find Urd.”

Verda turned away from them and Skuld followed after her. Dean glanced at Sam, swallowing back a laugh. These were the Norns? Dean had been expecting something grand and terrible to behold yet powerful. They sounded and seemed more like a bunch of squabbling sisters. He glanced over at Sam, feeling as if he should say something. The blind faith and trust implicit in Sam’s words made him want to say something. But it was lost in lieu of the anger that bubbled up again when he saw one side of Sam’s cheek puffed up. A blow had landed there, just as something had made a shallow cut on his brow. No wonder there had been so much blood. Head wounds always bled like a stuck pig.

He reached out and touched the puffed cheek. Sam winced slightly but didn’t move away. Dean let his fingers trail over the puffing before they skirted around the cut on his brow and then back down to blossoming bruise on Sam’s jaw line.

“He fuckin’ hurt you Sammy.” Dean managed to spit out. The anger was so thick, it threatened to choke him.

“It’s okay Dean. I just feel really stupid getting ambushed like that by the revenant. Textbook stupid is what it was. Dad’s turning over in his… uh well I’d imagine Dad wouldn’t be happy if he saw it.” Sam said dismissively as he rubbed the right side of his head.

It took Dean a couple of seconds to pull himself together before he said, “No, it’s not fuckin’ okay when someone hurts you. Not like this.”

“Yeah okay Dean.” Sam sounded tired and still sounded dismissive.

Sam turned his head to look at the Norns but Dean grabbed his chin and jerked it back. He met Sam’s gaze and kept it. Something flickered in Sam’s eyes for a moment, but it was gone so quickly that Dean wasn’t sure that he saw it. After a minute had passed, Dean finally spoke.

“It’s not fucking okay. And I swear to God if I have to tie you to the freakin’ bed to make sure shit like this doesn’t happen again, then I damned well will,” Dean paused for a moment. “Got me Sammy?”

It seemed like a small eternity before Sam finally replied with, “Okay Dean.”

The light in Sam’s eyes was more serious now. Dean released his chin before he looked away feeling slightly awkward. There had been an undercurrent there, but of what he wasn’t too damned sure. With the way that everything had been going lately, uncertainty wasn’t something that he really wanted hanging around.

“Really, Urd! You should know better!” Verda’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.

“No, you know what, fuck the whole damned family,” the voice that must be Urd sounded supremely pissed off. “If one more idiot from this line summons us without due cause, then –“

“Yeah, because you trashing Agatha’s place the last time didn’t spell it out well enough. But now you’ve left me with the work,” Skuld sounded pissed. “And escorting his sorry ass soul is the last thing I want to do.”

“… You could throw Hella a bone.” Urd said dryly.

There was a momentary pause and then all three Norns burst out cackling. When Dean glanced at Sam, he could see the faintly incredulous look on his face. Dean himself couldn’t believe this is how the Norns were acting. Dean peered around Skuld and Verda. There was another woman and at her feet lay the witch, his neck twisted at an abnormal angle.

“Ah Jesus Christ, you crack me up Urd.” Skuld shook her head. “I hate visiting Hella. She’s so damned pissy that she got the short end of the stick and you got the better deal. She never shuts up about it. Doesn’t help that she… you know… with uh… you know.”

Verda made very unlady-like snort. “You think getting banged regularly would loosen up Little Miss Prissy-Pants,”

A choking sound from beside him told Dean that Sam was trying very hard to not laugh. Dean was hard pressed to not do the same as well. Seriously, these women were the Norns? Change the location to a bar and they could easily be sitting in a booth somewhere, nursing drinks and bitching about life.

“But no, literally scorching hot sex keeps only one set of her lips occup–”

“Verda!” Skuld practically screeched. “The Winchester brothers are standing right there!”

“And I’m quite sure both of them are quite familiar with how sex works,” Verda glanced back at them with an appreciative glance. “And female body parts.”

“Okay, so this pissant little problem is solved?” Urd pressed. “Because we’ve dawdled on this plane long enough ladies.”

“Solved.” Verda agreed.

“Yeah, solved.” Skuld nodded her head. “But I am so dragging him to Hella. Witches are nothing but trouble and skeevy. I mean, why do they need blood and all that shit. Thank god it’s not as bad as the old days. So friggin’ unhygienic, it was unbelievable.”

Dean leaned in closer to Sam and murmured, “See. A Norn thinks the same thing.”

“Just shut up. Like your ego needs to get any bigger.”Sam whispered back.

“Okay, you two Winchesters, front and center.”

Urd’s voice took on the tone of a drill sergeant, one that brooked no argument. Dean found himself moving forward before he really thought about it. Sam was in step beside him. They halted a few paces from the Norns, still silent. Urd scrutinised them for a long moment. She had the same kind of eyes as Skuld and Verda. They seemed to look right into the core of you, stripped you bare and left nothing unturned.

“Well,” Urd sighed as she finally looked away. “You two gentlemen are more than adequately prepared.”

“Pardon?” Dean asked.

Urd just waved a hand in dismissal before she reached down and picked up the witch’s body with one hand before slinging it over her shoulder. “Once you leave this house, it shall be gone. I’m sick and tired of looking at it. Seeing the same place twice in under five hundred years is beyond ridiculous.”

“Take care.” Sam said.

Skuld beamed. “Can I take him home with me?”

“No,” Verda looped an arm through Skuld’s. “You’re way too busy. Do you know how many people probably died in the amount of time we’ve been here?”

“Yeah, enough to fill Valhalla and hell a couple of times over.” Skuld grumbled.

And just like that, Verda and Skuld were gone. One minute there, the next nothing. Urd seemed to be lingering for some reason or another.

“To the both of you, I will dispense one piece of advice. I owed your father.”

“You owed our Father?” Sam’s words sound incredulous.

“Well, it was more a bet. I had to escort him to hell in Skuld’s place. End of the matter was that if he managed to crawl out of hell –”

“Our dad made a bet with a Norn?” Just when Dean thought he had Dad figured out…

“The bet was if he managed to crawl out of hell, unscathed, I would occasionally dispense advice to his sons and descendants.”

“Wait, his sons and descendants?” Sam asked. “Dad had other kids besides us?”

Urd didn’t say anything for a moment. “When the time comes, don’t falter. Keep your hand true and you’ll be rewarded with death.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean blurted out.

“Look, there are rules I have to follow, okay. I’m not supposed to make it easy. Now, get the hell off the house so I can clean up before I go.”

“Just one more question,” Sam pressed. “Then we’re gone.”

Urd tried to keep the annoyance from her face and failed. But she still nodded her head. “One question. That’s it.”

“Jessica... is she okay?”

The words came out sounding stilted, as if Sam was trying to keep control of himself. Dean clapped him on the shoulder, trying to offer non-verbal support. There was a tightness to Sam’s face and Urd must have seen it as well since her expression relaxed a bit.

“She’s okay Sam. She finally moved on when Dean killed Azazel.” Urd looked like she wanted to say something else, but decided against it. She adjusted the body before she made shooing motions to them. “C’mon, time to get moving boys.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him after him. They carefully picked their way down the steps and walked a good distance away before they turned around to look. Urd was hovering above the ruins, dress and hair floating around her. The air seemed to thrum and then crackle before it took on a searing tone.

An ominous creaking sound came from the house before a mighty crack echoed out. A split ran down the middle of the floor and the steps. Then the house folded in half before it slowly started sinking into the ground. It took almost ten minutes for the house to be swallowed by the earth. When the last of it had disappeared beneath, the ground seemed to heal itself from the gaping hole. Grass and flowers sprouted from the top. Urd floated back down to the ground, hair and dress coming to a rest. She smiled at them before she inclined her head slightly.

Then she was gone. No warning or anything. One moment she was there and the next there was nothing there but a meadow in full bloom. There was a lengthy silence before Sam broke it.

“That didn’t end badly.”

“Lucky us,” Dean felt like he could just collapse into bed and sleep for a couple of days. He glanced over at Sam. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Sam nodded his head. “We should see how Jim and Blair are doing?”

That made sense. Dean just nodded his head in assent. They silently trekked back, Dean leading the way to where he had left Blair and Jim. They were fairly close to the tree line, within a clear view of everything. Dean could only hope that Jim hadn’t heard any of that. But as they got closer, the worry that radiated off of Jim was almost palpable. Dean slowed down his steps, wondering what Jim was so worried about. Everything looked fine. Blair looked up, saw them and waved.

“Pancakes! Neurons firing guns sure?”

“Uh…” Dean wasn’t too sure what to said.

“He’s been like this since he came to,” Jim didn’t look too happy. “I wanted to make sure you guys were okay before I took him to a hospital.”

“How bad was his concussion?” Sam asked.

“Pretty bad. And since I know you guys aren’t smeared all over the meadow there, I’m taking him back. If we hustle, we should make it back soon.”

“Okay.” Sam said.

Jim hurried Blair off through the under growth. Dean watched them go, before he looked over at Sam.

“So now what?” Dean asked him.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that you’ve got your senses back under control. Nothing went haywire during the whole thing, right?”

Dean shook his head silently. He could feel the muscles in his shoulder stiffening up. A one handed massage wasn’t going to do the trick and –

“Sit.”

Sam’s words broke into his thoughts. He stared over at his brother, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Sam looked at him with pursed lips and a slightly annoyed expression. If he whipped out a pair of scissors and declared that something had to be done about his hair, Dean was confronting him right here about being in the closet. Not that he… er, swung that way, but enough was enough.

“Sit where?” Dean asked with a one-shoulder shrug.

“Here.”

There was a low rock in front of Sam. Making a face, Dean sat down, wondering what Sam was getting at. After a moment, Sam slid his big mitts under Dean’s jacket and jerked it down. Dean barely had time to swear and turn his head around to ask what Sam was doing when those big fingers dug into the aching muscles. It wasn’t long before Dean was pushing the shoulder into Sam’s fingers as some of the stiffness was massaged away.

“When we get back to the Inn, you might want to take a soak or something,” Sam said quietly.

“Think you need it more than I do. Jesus,” Dean groaned. “Just right there.”

Sam obligingly dug his fingers in deeper and Dean groaned in relief and leaned back further into the touch. After a couple of minutes, Sam’s hands settled on his shoulder.

“Better?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Dean replied gratefully as he stood. Sam’s hand stayed in place.

“You okay to drive?”

Dean pondered Sam’s words before replying, “You better drive. Don’t want my shoulder seizing up again. You –”

“Dean, if you ask me that question again…” San trailed off threateningly.

“Yeah yeah,” It didn’t matter that Sam had a couple of inches and pounds on him, Dean could still take him. He started walking; the small hike back to the Impala would take awhile. “You’re fine. And then when you get back to the hotel, you’ll start blubbering about needing a manicure and pedicure.”

Sam made a sound of annoyance as he fell in step behind Dean. “Jerk.”

Dean’s response was the same as always. “Bitch.”

___________________________________________________________


	5. Chapter 5

Jim was tired. He had been sitting here in the hospital waiting room for almost two hours now. When he had brought Blair in through emergency, Blair had been whisked away. So far, no one had come out yet to inform Jim about anything. All Jim had done was fill out paperwork, give it in at the nurses’ station and then heard nothing. He was about ready to stalk up to the ward nurse and demand some answers. He leaned forward in his seat, looking at his hands clasped into a tight ball. What the hell could be so wrong with Blair that…

The sound of intent footsteps made him look up. There was a woman in a white coat walking towards him. She made eye contact with him and gave a small smile.

“Detective Ellison? I’m Dr Oakes, head of neurology.”

“Nice to finally see someone,” Jim took her proffered hand and shook it. “How is he?”

“Physically, for the most part, Mr. Sandburg is okay. It’s the head trauma he sustained. That’s caused a problem. I gather you’ve noticed that when he speaks it’s just random words strung together?”

“Yeah,” Jim nodded his head. “I figured it would clear up soon.”

“It might still,” Dr Oakes paused for a heartbeat before she said. “There was some slight bleeding around the Broca’s area of the brain. X-rays and MRI scans showed that the bleeding stopped on its own. Blair has aphasia. To be more precise, what he has is complete paraphasia. Paraphasia is when someone substitutes a few words here and there. Blair is substituting all his words.”

All Jim really heard was, ‘the bleeding stopped’ and ‘substituting all his words.’ He cleared his throat after a moment. “But, it’ll clear up, right?”

“It might,” Dr Oakes looked straight at Jim. “Or he might be talking like this for a long while. But considering how fast the bleeding stopped on its own, I’m optimistic. The bleeding could be causing pressure on the Broca’s area of the brain. As the body reabsorbs that blood, the pressure will be relieved and Blair will get back more of his regular speech patterns. It’ll take awhile, but you should notice in small steps.”

Jim hated it when doctors used jargon. “So… it’s just a matter of healing now?”

“Yes,” Dr Oakes looked slightly amused now. “He’s very lucky though, since his comprehension seems to be completely intact.”

Finally some more good news; Jim couldn’t complain with that. “That’s good.”

Dr Oakes nodded her head. “To be honest with you it’s the strangest case of Wernicke’s aphasia that I have seen. The main problem is when he tries to communicate. He says something that makes perfect sense to him, but it’s actually just random words that have been substituted in.” She paused. “I wouldn’t recommend him going to work for the next while, not until he learns to communicate clearly. I’ll make sure that Simon gets the necessary paperwork for Blair’s medical leave.”

Jim looked at Dr Oakes in surprise, which prompted her to say, “I’ve worked closely with Keith and offered some professional advice on cases. I sort of indirectly know about you and Blair.” He scrubbed at his face. This day seriously couldn’t get any… probably best if he didn’t finish that train of thought.

“What can I do?” there was no way in hell Jim was leaving Blair to his own devices.

“Well, the first few weeks might be very difficult. Does he have anyone else that he interacts with on a near constant basis besides you?”

“No, he doesn’t.” Jim answered.

“Okay then. I’ll release him into your care. Just get him home and make sure that he gets some rest,” Dr Oakes dug into a pocket and pulled out some brochures. “There are some groups that he might be interested in going to. They might help him with communicating while I see about finding a speech therapist for him. The waiting lists are a bit long, so, I’ll put him on, just in case.”

Jim took the brochures and they disappeared into his jacket. Dr Oakes patted him on the shoulder.

“If half the things I’ve heard about Blair are true, he’ll bounce back in no time at all Detective Ellison,” Dr Oakes turned, gesturing down the hallway. “He’s down in room five sixteen. Before you go rushing off, just keep in mind that it might be frustrating for you as well. Unless you two can practically finish one another’s sentences, I’d suggest sticking to yes or no questions, something he can just nod to.”

“Thank you.” Jim said.

Dr Oakes just nodded her head and headed towards the nurse station. It was damned tough to not bolt down the hall to the room. But he somehow managed a decent pace. When he got to the room door, he peered in. There was Blair sitting on the bed, looking absolutely miserable. Jim cleared his throat and stepped into the room. Blair looked up at him, eyes shuttering. Oh no, no…

“None of that Chief. Doc Oakes told me everything. No feeling sorry for yourself,”

Jim walked over to the bed and sat down. Blair crossed his arms, shoulders hunched defensively. Jim stifled the sigh of frustration that almost slipped free. It seemed that Blair was already frustrated enough for them both.

“All right, I can’t possibly imagine what it’s like. But I do know that you can understand me perfectly fine, right?”

It was a long moment before Blair gave a curt nod of his head. Jim nodded his head as well, tossing an arm around Blair’s shoulders.

“So I guess I’ll have to be the talkative one… for once.”

Blair shoulders shook with the sudden snort he gave. Jim could ignore the derision. He just gave Blair a light shake as he shook his head.

“Seriously Chief. We’ve known each other, how long? You think I don’t know what you’re thinking?”

Blair glanced over at him with a quizzical look. What the hell, Jim could amuse him.

“Yeah, I know: I don’t have a talkative bone in my body.”

Blair glanced over him for a long moment. The grin that split his face was worth it to Jim. He clapped Blair on the shoulder and then got up.

“So come on. We’re heading back home.” Jim said. “I’d let you fix dinner, but after today, I don’t feel like eating rabbit food and drinking sludge.”

Blair shot him a deprecating look as he got up from the bed. After a moment, Blair sighed heavily. Jim watched him for a moment. Blair seemed to be weighing something before he decided.

“Peach latex.”

Blair’s voice was quiet. And, like Jim had seen back in the forest, he made no sense. But Jim got the gist of it.

“Don’t go thanking me,” Jim said easily. “I figure if you’re going to be home for a bit, someone can dust behind the bookcase.”

Jim didn’t take it too hard when Blair socked him playfully in the shoulder.

___________________________________________________________

Sam didn’t know what time it was. After they had gotten back to their motel room, Dean had gone to take a shower. That wasn’t for Dean’s lack of trying. Sam had to all but shove Dean into the bathroom and pull on the doorknob to keep him from getting out. He only eased up when he heard the sound of the curtain being snapped back and angry mutters from Dean.

Him being knocked around was nothing compared to how Dean’s shoulder must have been feeling.

So while Dean soaked in the tub, Sam had set about cleaning the guns. By the time he had finished with the used ones, Dean was emerging from the bathroom. It had been a long while since Sam had seen Dean looking so completely relaxed. Sam had let Dean crawl into bed before he went to the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the shower.

So far, this was one of those cases that ranked right up there on their, ‘Who the hell would believe us?’ meter. Seriously, squabbling Norns with the power over a man’s life? Sam wasn’t about to go striking up a conversation. They’d take one look at him and start screaming something about taint or who knew what else. Actually, come to think of it, one of the Norns, Urd maybe, had inferred something about them being ‘adequately prepared.’

Sam didn’t really want to give it too much thought. But he would really like to know what all that was about. But he wasn’t about to do some heavy-duty spell casting in order to call the Norns back and ask. Hell, Urd might be liable to break his neck. She had no qualms about doing so to the witch if Verda and Skuld’s surprise said anything.

Sam sighed and then grabbed the bar of soap, quickly scrubbing himself down. If he tried to figure out half this shit then he’d just give himself a headache tonight. Not what he had in mind. He reached to put the soap back on its dish when the click of the door mechanism made him look up. He was briefly wondering how dangerous a bar of soap, a soap dish and a cheap bottle of shampoo would be when he recognised the Dean’s silhouette.

“You forgot a towel.”

Dean’s shadow moved. Sam peered around the edge of the curtain. Sitting there onthe lowered toilet seat cover was a folded towel. Dean had closed the door and was leaning against it. Sam’s mouth dried with nervousness as he ducked back behind the curtain. What the hell did Dean think was so important that he wouldn’t leave it until later? He finished showering off and killed the water. Dean didn’t speak until Sam grabbed the towel and pulled it behind the curtain to swathe it around his hips.

“You sure you’re okay Sammy?”

The flash of irritation that rose was just as easy to quell. Dean was still worried? All things considered, if something was wrong from him getting a head injury, he’d have passed out by now. Dean would have found him in a heap on the bottom of tub. That would be reason for concern. He pushed the curtain back and stepped onto the mat. Dean’s nostrils flared slightly before he shifted, straightening his frame out. Sam didn’t miss how Dean’s eyes flitted over the bruises. It took almost superhuman strength to just not frown. Sam grabbed his toothbrush, squeezing out a dollop of toothpaste from the tube as he spoke.

“Dean, again, I’m okay.”

Sam shoved the toothbrush in his mouth and started scrubbing. Hard. After a minute he spit out some of the foam and looked up into the mirror. Dean seemed tense again somehow. He finished off brushing his teeth before he rinsed his mouth. When he looked up again, Dean was still there. He sighed and turned around.

“I don’t know how else to tell you. I’m fine, all right. A bit banged up, but it comes with the job.” Sam paused. “What time is it anyways?”

“Almost one in the morning.” Dean leaned off the door and opened it. “We should get some rest. Gonna be heading out soon.”

Sam nodded his head in acknowledgement. Dean left the bathroom silently and Sam wanted to swear. He felt like there was some huge thing that he missed. Damned if he knew what though. He jammed his toothbrush back into the toothpaste box and grabbed his pyjamas. He tossed the towel over the curtain rail and walked out. Dean already had the lights off. Light filtered in from the street outside. Dean had the bed closest to the door. Sam could just make out his shape under the blanket; see that Dean was lying on his side. He looked at his own empty bed, awaiting him.

He couldn’t say what made him bypass it.

Thankfully the beds here were pretty big, queen sized. He finished tugging his shirt on and stood at the bedside. Dean spent all of forty seconds ignoring him before he finally turned his head to look back. Sam just crossed his arms.

“Move over, you jerk.”

Dean grumbled but obligingly did so. Sam clambered in, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders. There was silence for a moment and then Dean said,

“Least you’re still warm from the shower,” he paused for a moment before he added, “You still kinda smell like cleaning solvent.”

Sam nearly groaned. “Is there any winning with you?”

“Just saying,” Dean lapsed into silence before he finished with. “‘Sides, I like it. Comforting. Like… home.”

There wasn’t anything that Sam could think of in reply. Sometimes, Dean subtly laid a huge thing right at his feet for him to puzzle out. That was not flying tonight. He could deal with that tomorrow.

“Sammy?”

“Christ, just shut up and go to sleep.”

Dean must have decided that he was right since there was no more conversation. Sam slowly drifted off and his last conscious thought was that there was seriously something big and obvious that he was missing.

___________________________________________________________

Blair was frustrated. For one of the few times in his life, he was well and truly frustrated. He’d always been able to express himself perfectly fine, never gave it a second thought.

To have that ability suddenly stripped away because of a knock to the head… it had been something of a bitter pill to swallow.

Thankfully, Jim seemed able to figure out what he had meant half the time. But the thought of going into the department, unable to communicate clearly that chilled him to the bone. He was honestly glad Dr Oakes filed the paper work for him to be off for longer than a week. He sighed and shifted in the chair, looking at the clock on the wall. The hands ticked, bringing the time slowly closer to two thirty in the morning. He really should be asleep.

When he had lain in bed, all he had been doing was staring at the ceiling. Now, he was just sitting in a chair in the living room, looking out the window and watching planes go by in the sky. It was barely an improvement. He shifted in the seat now, trying to not frown. It was going to take some adjusting, no mistake about that. Maybe he had been expecting a miracle of some sort when he should have been looking to take small steps. His diagnosis had been mere hours ago.

Probably because he got used to the sense of empowerment being a police officer gave him. Not that he wasn’t empowered before. But now, he was actually a part of the system, effecting actual change in the world in a more direct manner. He never could have done half the things he had done if he was still an observer. He sat there for a long moment before he got up. It didn’t take long to get his car keys and shrug into his jacket.

He was pretty sure there was no ice cream left in the house. Jim had polished it off a couple of days ago. Ice cream might help with his shitty mood. A couple more hours of wallowing wouldn’t hurt. Then he’d let Jim just yank him up by the bootstraps and he’d get to work. Well, so to speak at least. The drive to the store was short and it took even less time to get to the frozen food section.

He was still standing and decided when something bumped into him.

“Sorry.” The girl pushing the cart looked flustered for a moment. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Blair just shook his head, gave a wan smile and looked back at the ice cream. The girl pulled the cart back and sidled up to the freezer door, perusing the choices. When she started rocking back and forth on her heels, Blair gave her a glance. The girl’s eyes met his and she grinned.

“Nanci… with an ‘i’,” Nanci produced a card and held it out to him. “You are?”

Blair took the card and looked it over. The name of Nanci Abonsom gleamed under the fluorescent lights. He glanced over the card quickly. It seemed professional enough. Her head was tilted slightly as she looked at him. A distinct impression struck Blair, one of someone that was waiting patiently for something to come into her web. He shook his head after a moment and dug about in his pockets. It took him a moment to find a card and hand it over to her. She took it, eyes flicking over the information before she looked back at him.

“You know,” Nanci wagged the card at him between her middle and index finger. “You don’t look at all like a cop. Your hair is all long and you don’t have those hard-ass lines around your mouth.”

Hard-ass lines? He didn’t know he had a lack of them. Not to mention that he’d never thought of the creases by Jim’s mouth as that. More like frown lines that were slowly morphing into smile lines. A chuckle brought him back to attention. Nanci was tucking the card away in her pocket. She reached into the freezer and pulled out two cartons of ice cream. One went into her cart and the other went into Blair’s hands.

“Heavenly Hash. If you don’t know what you want, it’s a little bit of everything.”

Blair just nodded his head, looking it over. Did Jim even eat Heavenly Hash? Or would it be something that would sit in the freezer and get burned? Nanci moved her cart around him before heading out of the aisle. Just as she rounded around a display of ice cream cans, she looked back at him with a smile and a wave. He waved back and her smile widened even more. Nanci was pretty in an exotic way: a riot of curly hair, large brown eyes and skin that looked like milk chocolate. That smile of hers could probably charm the rain from the sky and she smelled like sandalwood. He looked at the card again, noticing the small typeface under her name. And she was an artist to boot. A smile came to his face and he tucked the card away in his pocket.

When he finally got the hang of speaking down again, he’d give Nanci a call.

___________________________________________________________

The room was still dark when Dean slowly awoke, eyes blinking. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that shadows still filled the room. He looked towards the window. Weak sunlight filtered in through a crack in the curtains. Shifting, he turned his hearing up slightly, until the roadway was audible. It sounded like there weren’t that many cars about yet. It was still early enough to not think about getting up for a bit.

Sam was still alseep, the other bed still neatly made on the other side of the room. It would be a million years before Dean readily admitted to Sam that he didn’t actually mind sharing a bed with him. Once Sam got accustomed to sharing a bed, the elbow stabbing and general edging out disappeared. It was almost like when they were younger: a shared bed meant more warmth and safety. After the shtriga had attacked Sam and Dad tore a strip off of him, Dean insisted Sam share a bed with him, just in case, when Dad had been out on a hunt. That had lasted until Sam hit his teens and declared himself old enough to sleep by himself.

What had prompted Sam sharing a bed with him, Dean couldn’t say but he wasn’t complaining. Even if Sam was half on him and weighed as much a fucking draft horse when asleep. He was very glad Sam hadn’t woken up yet. Dean couldn’t believe he had rambled like that last night. If he had to say anything was to blame, it was his nerves.

Not that it could be his nerves. Sharing a bed with Sam wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t.

It took a couple of minutes to slowly shift himself and not wake up Sam. By the time he was done, he was sitting up, Sam’s head pillowed on his leg. There was no stress on Sam’s face now, it was just relaxed. And there was a part of Dean that wished that he could stay in this one moment of time. Just stay here in this shadowy room and not have to deal with the world. Not have to deal with things like prophecies and fucking meddling demons. Didn’t have to worry about Sam and what Azazel had planned for him. Didn’t have to deal with the possibility of Sam being the prophesied anti-Christ and all the baggage that came with.

The Norn’s words came back, drifting through his mind. “You two gentlemen are more than adequately prepared.” What the hell had Urd meant by that? Not to mention what she might have been thinking about during that small pause.

Those words had brought everything he’d been temporarily ignoring right back to the forefront. He knew it was something absolutely crazy, but he kept thinking that maybe the witch had done, triggered, something in Sam. Something that would make him go all dark side. And then he recalled what the Trickster had shown him back in Scranton, how it had fucked with his head, showing him Sam and himself like that.

Only problem was that this train of thought was a vicious self-perpetuating cycle. Kinda hard to stop once it started.

Sam mumbled something into his leg and shifted. Dean ignored the seep of warm breath from Sam’s mouth against his thigh and had to stifle the urge to pet Sam’s hair. That had settled him before when he was little. But once Dad started training him… well, Dean didn’t want to find that hand twisted in a death grip and a muscle spasm away from being broken.

But stupid him, needing some sort of damned reassurance, reached out and gently rested his hand against Sam’s head. There was a slight frown came to Sam’s face, but when Dean slowly moved his hand the frown disappeared. One of those long arms went across Dean’s leg and Sam gave a long and low sigh of contentment.

And almost as suddenly, Dean felt his chest constrict with a tight pain. He’d be damned if he let Sam go dark side for any reason, let alone fulfill Azazel’s sick-ass, ‘let’s-end-the-world-with-a-bang-‘cause-I’m-the-anti-Christ-or-whatever-the-fuck-it-was’ plans. He would be cold and dead before he let that happen. Sam stirred again, arm tightening around Dean’s legs and he burrowed in closer. Dean continued to stroke Sam’s hair, feeling the curve of skull beneath his palm.

Sometimes Dean didn’t think his two hands were enough to protect Sam from everything that encroached against them. Other times, he knew he could take on the world and emerge victorious.

Sam was mumbling something in his sleep now. Dean couldn’t make out what it was, but he froze when Sam’s lips started pressing kisses against his thigh. Christ, now would be a really good time for Sam to wake up because Dean really didn’t feel like dealing with the conversation that would come if Sam tried to do anything… else while he was still asleep. He managed to free his legs from Sam’s arm and eased a hand under Sam’s head to slip out. He slipped out and started laid Sam’s head down on the pillow. Good thing he did too, since Sam had started nipping at his fingertips and honestly, Dean knew he shouldn’t be thinking it, but it felt pretty damned good.

Dean did his best to not laugh as Sam grabbed the pillow and almost started making out with it in his sleep. The laughter nearly escaped until Dean’s next thought killed it: if he hadn’t moved, Sam would currently be trying to suck face with his crotch.

Yeah, that would have been awkward. But Dean knew, with certainty, that it would have felt good.

“I need to get laid.” Dean grumbled to himself as he dug some clothes out of his duffel bag and headed for the bathroom.

When he walked into the tiled room, he tossed the clothes on the toilet and quickly stripped out of his pyjamas and hopped into the tub. He turned on the water and then the shower, just standing under the spray. Small puffs of steam floated around and once the water had been running for a couple of minutes he turned around, spray drumming against his back as he looked down. He hadn’t cleaned the pipes in over a month. No wonder everything was feeling good. Now that there wasn’t the threat of imminent death looming in the near future, everything was kinda on standby and waiting.

So what the hell?

Dean took a quick look around the bath and spotted the bottle of conditioner at the end of the tub, tucked right into the corner. He grabbed it and squeezed out a generous dollop onto the palm of his hand before sliding the palm of his hand over his dick, fantasy coming forth easily. A steamy shower with Jessica Alba, those perky breasts pressed against his chest and those long legs wrapped about his waist as she ground against him. Dean wrapped his fingers around his dick, working his hand up and down the shaft slowly. She’d be braced back against the wall and he’d lean forward, just slipping the head into her before slowly thrusting in all the way.

He closed his eyes and let it spin out rapidly from there. He couldn’t be bothered to try and draw out the fantasy for long. She’d writhe against him, nip on his ear and neck, soft and yielding as he thrust into her. Dean gritted his teeth, halting his hand as he tried to stave off the orgasm he could feel coming. He opened his eyes and looked down at dick, red with lust and slick from the conditioner. There were a few pearly drops of precome leaking from the head.

Then Dean realised what an idiot he was being.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, imagining that his sense of touch was double what it was normally. Dean knew it had taken effect when he felt a momentary rush of prickles down his body. Sounded stupid but it was the best way he could think of to describe it.

He tightened his grip slightly as he dragged his hand up. Shit, the feeling was that much better. He closed his eyes and started moving his hand slowly. The stimulation coursed through him much faster this time, and it wasn’t long before he was rapidly reaching the point of orgasm.

Dean reached out with his other hand and braced it against the back wall, leaning forward. So one writhing Jessica Alba around him, her breath hot on his neck, pussy wet, warm and tight around him. Then he set her down and turn her around before taking her from behind.

This was the point at which Dean’s mind decided to mess around with him.

Rather abruptly, it wasn’t Jessica Alba he was banging. The small, slender back was replaced with a wider one, Dean was buried right to the root in someone’s ass. He could see his hands running up the broad back, the play of muscles against skin looking oddly familiar. The person’s hair was kind of and curly, that much he could tell. But it was so damp that there wasn’t anything else recognisable about it. One of his hands slid up into that hair and grabbed a fistful of it before yanking. The person’s head went back, exposing their neck. Dean continued thrusting as he buried his face in their neck, biting and sucking.

“Fuck.”

By this point, Dean was too far gone to even stop masturbating at this point. A couple more jerks and he was done, come spilling out over his fingers and onto the bathtub floor. He waited until he was done, breathing harsh and seemingly amplified in the enclosed bathroom. He had recognised that juncture of neck and shoulder. The hair finally fell into place, as did the familiar back,

Dean stared absently at the bottle of conditioner in the corner. Sam’s bottle of conditioner. Damn, he needed to talk to Jim as soon as possible.

___________________________________________________________

The department was blessedly quiet. Of course that could have something to do with the fact that Jim was here at just after seven in the morning. His desk inbox was overflowing with paperwork. The serial killer had been unofficially caught. Jim still wasn’t too sure what had happened in that clearing. When he had dared to leave Blair alone for a minute, all he had seen was Dean standing in front of Sam and three women standing in front of them. There had been a limp body slung over one of the woman’s shoulders.

Jim didn’t know who it was that was slung over the shoulder, but he had used his vision and gotten a good look at their face. The neck was obviously broken, flopping about at strange angles visible, and bone creating obvious protrusions beneath and against the skin. The dirty blond hair hung from the head, matted with moisture from the rain. The masculine features were defined and those light blue eyes stared sightlessly ahead.

All Jim could really hope was that –

“What the hell are you doing here Ellison?”

Jim turned at the sound of Simon’s voice to see the man come walking in, jacket still on. With a shrug, Jim got out of his seat. “Finishing off some paperwork.”

“You’re off-duty for a week, remember?”

“Can’t leave it for someone else to do.” That had honestly been the furthest thing from Jim’s mind.

Simon made a grunt and then motioned to his office door with his head. Jim followed behind him, trying to figure out what Simon would want from him. Simon stepped inside, holding the door open for Jim. The moment Jim was inside, Simon closed the door and started to shrug out of jacket. When Simon gestured to the chair in front of his desk, Jim knew it couldn’t possibly be any good. He took the seat, waiting for Simon to start. It didn’t help that he didn’t really know what he was going to say about what had happened.

“So you and Blair succeeded?”

“Yes, we did.” Jim said.

A slightly awkward silence filled the office as Simon just looked at him. Of course Simon had more questions he didn’t really have answers for. Jim stifled a sigh. The truth would just be too damned odd to hear. FBI agents dealing with celestial beings? That would just get him another week off and orders to see the shrink before he finally snapped.

“Uh,” Jim cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what happened?”

There was a long moment of silence before Jim replied with, “… I don’t want more time with the office shrink.”

Simon shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Still running with the theory that it was a dead person who committed the murders?”

“Yessir.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but you and Sandburg didn’t find the person who controlled the… zombie, or whatever it was?”

“No Sir,” Jim answered. Considering that he had no idea about what happened in the clearing, he couldn’t give Simon a clear-cut answer. “Sandburg and I ended up getting FBI help on this one.”

“Jesus Christ Jim,” Simon made a face and then swore a bit. “Do you like making my life difficult? The amount of jurisdictional paperwork alone –”

“They let us have jurisdiction on this Sir. They just aided and –”

“So they caught the person?” Simon’s voice was harsh as he changed tact.

“… I don’t know Sir.” Jim didn’t give Simon time to ream him. “I need to check in with them this morning. Blair took a pretty bad knock to the head last night.”

The pissed look on Simon’s face relaxed slightly. “I got the paperwork from Dr Oakes as I was coming in. She was dropping it off herself. He really makes no sense at all?”

“No Sir. He could be like this for awhile.”

Simon sighed heavily. “Okay, but I want a report at two on what happened. Just call it in. Because honest to God, I have to figure out what to write and what the hell to do about the investigation for the disappearance of Caesar Schenider.”

“Caesar Schneider?” Jim echoed. The name sounded familiar for some reason.

“Yeah Caesar Schneider. Youngest son of Max Schneider. Reported him missing just over twenty hours ago. And because Max Schenider has half the police board by the balls, it’ll become top priority as soon as it hits an official twenty four hours.”

“Well, shit.” Jim grumbled.

“Succinctly put,” Simon shook his head. “I guess you can finish up what you were doing. After you fill me in later, consider yourself officially off. Am I clear Ellison?”

“Perfectly.”

Jim got up from his seat quickly and left as Simon motioned for him to go. He only got to the door when Simon spoke again.

“And I don’t want to see you see you sniffing around here again. We can handle a disappearance case… even if the father thinks that the Cascade PD is his own personal task force.”

Judging from the black look on Simon’s face, a confrontation between him and Max Schenider was looming on the horizon. Jim could only hope that he wasn’t around to witness it. It seemed like one of those things that would become department legend. He nodded his head and closed the office door behind him. Already, he could hear a couple of phones ringing as he made his way back to his desk. It was only as he got closer that he realised that the phone on Blair’s desk, opposite his, was ringing. As if on auto-pilot, he answered the phone.

“Detective Ellison.”

 _‘Uh… this is Jim, right?’_

Jim frowned as he grabbed the receiver and dragged it over to his desk before he sat down. “This is?”

 _‘Dean. Glad you picked up.’_

That was a new one. “Did you need something?”

 _‘... Is it just me, or are Guides trouble magnets?’_

“Blair is sometimes,” Jim chuckled. “But I haven’t met anyone else with one aside from you and Sam.”

 _‘Great,’_ Dean made a frustrated sound. _‘There isn’t a pamphlet or something like that?’_

“I’ll send you the quarterly newsletter,” Jim deadpanned.

 _‘Hilarious.’_

Jim was silent for a moment. Dean had heard the gunshot yesterday and had backtracked like a bat out of hell. But Sam seemed like he could handle himself. Not to mention the fact that this was something that Dean should be used to. He had to be separated from his partner for a period of time and something happened. But still… Jim could see where some of these questions were coming from,

Jim leaned back in his seat as he said, “But it’s normal.”

 _‘Guides running around and nearly getting themselves killed is normal?’_

There was a snarl in Dean’s voice and Jim had to take a moment to not rise to it. This was not a pissing content and getting into a yelling match with Dean wouldn’t accomplish anything. Jim took a couple of deep breaths before he answered.

“No. But you just keep an eye out for them, you know. Make sure they don’t run off and do something stupid.” Dean made an annoyed sound over the phone. Jim sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t have concrete answers for you okay. What worked for me and Blair might cause problems between you and Sam. So you actually do need to sit down and talk it out with him.”

 _‘Thanks.’_ Dean sounded thrilled.

“Since this is coming from the man everyone considers to be emotionally constipated, it’s a gem alright.” Jim paused. “Never push though. Sam strikes me as having a very stubborn temperament. If you push him too much, he’ll dig in his heels. I don’t know what Sam does, but Blair doesn’t shut up. For a long while. It’s worth it to me to let him boss me around a bit.”

 _‘… All right then. More than I needed to know. Thanks.’_

And with that, Dean hung up the phone. Jim stared at the receiver for a moment before he hung it up and slid the phone back over to Blair’s desk. Okay, so maybe that enforced time off was sounding better and better.

___________________________________________________________

“Where the hell are we going?”

Sam didn’t answer Dean’s question as he continued guiding the car up the gravel pathway. The restroom building came and passed them by as Sam guided the car around a bend and then into a spot in the parking lot. Truth be told, they were back at Mt Baker National Park. Dean seemed to just be taking it for granted that everything was working fine with him. That one day of putting his senses through their paces, if at all, was enough.

Fat chance of that. Given what they did, Sam felt that the more prepared Dean was then the better. Knowing the extent of one’s abilities and strengths was never a stupid thing. Dean had seemed preoccupied since the clearing, but that was no damned excuse.

The parking lot was almost eerily silent when Sam killed the car engine. He took the keys out of the ignition. He didn’t even have to look over to know that Dean was fuming. Christ, what pole was up his ass?

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Dean sounded very annoyed and frustrated.

Sam looked over at Dean and gave his best innocent grin. “Hiking. I think you need to get more in touch with your senses, nature and –”

“You mean like meditate, commune with nature… that kind crap?” Dean made a face. “You’re kidding me right?”

“Dean, c’mon. Did you even use your abilities in the clearing? The more you know about your senses and how far you can push them, the better. I mean, who knows what else you can do.”

“Fine, whatever.” Dean said as he undid his seatbelt and got out of the car.

Sam frowned as Dean slammed the door shut. That had been easier than he thought to achieve. Sometimes trying to get Dean to do something that wasn’t his own idea was like trying to move heaven and earth: it wasn’t happening. He dug into his pocket as he opened the car door. He found the scrap of paper in his pocket and pulled it out, leaving it on the seat as he got out and then closed the door. He didn’t know how he came up with this insane idea when Dean headed down to the car with his duffel bag from the motel room. Hell, he was pretty sure ditching Dean for awhile and leaving this stupid note behind would get him a swift ass kicking.

But he had no other ideas.

He got out and stretched his arms. It was fairly warm out and Sam didn’t think he would be out here past dark. He shucked off his jacket and tossed it inside on the driver’s seat before he closed the door. Dean was leaning against the front of the car, arms crossed. Sam could just imagine the pissy look on Dean’s face. Yeah, this was looking like a terrible idea more and more.

“Just let me use the bathroom first.”

Dean just nodded his head silently and then Sam started jogging back to the restrooms. Before he went around the bend, he glanced back. Dean was still leaning against the car and not looking in his direction. Good. He continued jogging, slipping around the side of the building and into the forest. He continued on slowly through the forest for a couple of minutes. Once he felt he was safely out of earshot, he broke into a run.

Manhunt was a simple game in theory. Sam could only hope that Dean used his abilities. It wasn’t as if Sam was leaving him with much else for clues.

“I’m so going to get beaten up for this.”

___________________________________________________________

Dean glanced down at his watch, a scowl coming to his face. “C’mon Sammy, shouldn’t take this long to take a leak.”

Shifting against the car, Dean glanced back in the direction that Sam had jogged off in. The only thing he could hear was the sound of birds in the distance and a slight breeze through the trees. Nothing else. He couldn’t explain it, but he was feeling slightly antsy. Like a rubber band pulled tight. The conversation he had with Jim in the morning didn’t help much either.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to having a talk with Sam about this. Sam had all been for him using his abilities and testing them, seeing how well he could use them. Dean honestly didn’t care either way. Everything was working fine that was good enough for him. He waited a little bit longer before he pushed off from the car and walked in the direction Sam took. The restrooms appeared around the bend. But when Dean approached, he heard no sounds coming from inside.

“Sammy!” Dean called as he pushed the door open and leaned in. “Let’s go.”

The hum of fluorescent lights greeted him. With a frown, Dean walked in and peered along the floor. Not one sign of Sam’s huge feet. He left the restroom and stomped back to the car, remembering that Sam left his jacket on the seat. That had to have some clue. Sam was forever stuffing bits of paper into his pockets. When he got to the car, he jerked the door open and grabbed Sam’s jacket. A piece of white fluttered down to the ground, registering in the corner of his eye. He crouched down and picked it up. Sam’s words on the page might as well have been burned on.

  


  


  
That was it, just a messy scrawl on a piece of paper. Or rather, a messy, scrawled out order. Dean crumpled the paper in his hand while he stood up and looked at Sam’s jacket in his other. He wasn’t too sure what he should be feeling, but finding Sam and knocking some sense into him seemed like an increasingly good idea. He stuffed the paper in his jeans pocket before he looked at Sam’s jacket. It took him a bit to focus himself and then increase his sense of smell before he buried his face in the jacket, inhaling deeply.

The scents in the jacket pretty much hit him like a ton of bricks. Stale sweat was predominant, but there was an underlying scent that was distinctly Sam. It was something tangy and sharp, like it got right into someone’s face. Dean debated leaving the jacket behind before he decided against it. He might need it again. He balled the jacket up and tucked it underneath his arm before he headed back to the restrooms.

Sam must have ditched him around here. There should be a trail around here somewhere… bingo. The imprint of shoes was faint but visible enough. He paused breathing deeply. Sam’s scent stood out like a sore thumb amid the scents of trees and earth.

To his credit, Sam was good. The trail was evenly spaced before the steps started stretching out, in a loping run. With those long legs, and an almost twenty minute head start, Sam had to have been a good distance into the forest by now. The trail wound through the trees, heading in a northerly direction. It crossed over a small creek. That was the first spot where Dean lost the trail. He spent a grand total of five minutes trying to pick up Sam’s scent trail again. If it hadn’t been for a branch he spotted a few hundred meters upstream, he would have been looking for a lot longer.

The branch was cracked and broken at the base where it met the tree. As he jogged up towards it, he could see twin spots on the branch that had been rubbed, the under-bark exposed. The spots would have fit Sam’s hand perfectly. When he scrambled up the slight bank, Sam’s scent was back, clear as day.

As the trail continued, the forest grew in thicker. Dean found himself relying less on his know-how and more on his gut instinct. His main goal now was find Sam. Anything else would be dealt with afterwards. He kept going in further and further. When he passed a tree that looked suspiciously familiar, he drew his knife and nocked it before continuing on. He could have sworn when he approached the nocked tree again five minutes later. Sam had set up a circular trail. And since Dean hadn’t caught a scent trail veering off it presented one of two scenarios: Sam had gone up into the trees and he was still here, watching and waiting to see what he would do, or he had doubled back.

It took Dean all of five seconds to decide what to do. He continued along the circular trail before he spotted a tree with a low enough branch. It was thick and looked like it could take his weight. He burst into a sprint and grabbed the branch. It creaked ominously before it snapped off, letting him hit the forest floor hard. Swearing under his breath, Dean got to his feet, and amped his hearing up as he looked around suspiciously. If Sam was within sight, he would be laughing his ass off right now. But he didn’t hear a single thing.

Sam wasn’t here at all.

Gritting his teeth, Dean scaled down his head and doubled back to the river. When he got there, he started walking up and down the banks. Before long, he caught wind of another trail, much further downstream from where he had looked. Wily bastard had laid a false trail and then doubled back before continuing on. Dean hadn’t been able to even tell from the footprints, since his own muddled up anything he could have read from Sam’s.

The forest wasn’t nearly as thick here as if had been upstream. Dean went as fast as he could, picking his way over rocks, tree roots and fallen tree trunks. Sam’s scent trail was stronger than ever, accentuated by sweat and the underlying acridity of testosterone.

Most of the morning was spent just looking, closing in. Dean would find a trail and follow it only to realise he had been duped. After the fourth such trail, Dean wasn’t duped any more. For some reason, the false trails didn’t have the same acrid scent as the main trail. When Sam went aerial in some tight spots where the trees were so thick it would have impeded even walking, Dean would swear and curse Sam for being part monkey before he himself scrambled up the tree and walked across branches, arms steadying his slow pace across.

It was when the sun was just past its apex that Dean realised he had Sam within range. He was hot, sweat making his shirt cling to him. His jacket was balled up under his arm, along with Sam’s. The forest grew thick in this spot, but the area seemed drenched with Sam’s scent. He’d been all over the spot here, effectively masking his hiding place.

Dean leaned against a tree trunk, letting himself cool off a bit. There was no point looking at the ground to try and figure out where Sam was hiding. The ground was churned, footprints overlapping one another. He turned his hearing up, a bit at a time, until the sounds of the forest were loud enough to drown out the sound of his own beating heart.

Besides, it wasn’t his he needed to hear.

The simple thing was walking along with the edge of the scented area. It was pretty big. Big enough that his vision to the other side was mostly obscured by tree trunks. Smartest thing to do would be to spiral in. He’d stumble across some definite evidence of Sam that way. He was slowly moving in, the circle tightening, when he suddenly heard movement. It was the slow and steady rustle of leaves moving. Dean stilled, hearing picking up more sounds. Joints were creaking slightly from not moving for a while and the slow and steady thump of a heart. He could hear breathing now, the unnatural pace of something slow and measured precisely. He finally moved, silent and invisible, to a tree trunk and peered around.

Sure enough it was Sam, covered in bits of leaves, dirt and twigs. He wasn’t even trying to beat it off himself. He was moving quickly and quietly now, trying to slip out of Dean’s tightening circle.

Not a chance in hell. The thought flitted across Dean’s mind as he shifted before quickly darting to the next closest tree trunk. There was a moment of silence now. Sam must have heard or sensed something. It was now or never. He scaled back his sense of hearing and prepared to move.

Cover wasn’t something he even considered. Dean just slipped around the tree and ran towards Sam. Sam took off like a startled rabbit. The close trees were a help and a hindrance. Sam couldn’t get into a long stride and cover more distance than him. But at the same time, the trees were seriously getting in Dean’s way. Dredging up some strength from somewhere, Dean ran faster and managed to draw even with Sam. He grabbed a hand and jerked.

Sam’s upper torso lurched back while his legs continued forward. A second later and his legs were in the air. Another second and he was flat on his back. Dean didn’t waste any time, jumping on top of Sam, straddling his hips and pinning him in place. He stared down at Sam, breathing hard. If he hadn’t been using his Sentinel abilities, finding Sam might’ve taken him twice as long.

But now, he had Sam pinned to the forest floor. The relief he felt was tiny to the wave of fury that seemed to abruptly crash over him.

Sam was breathing hard and didn’t sound the least bit sorry when he asked, “Are you going to get off me?”

All that had was the effect of pissing Dean off even more. Before he could even think, Dean had fisted a hand and punched Sam right across the jaw. Sam grunted with the impact, his face flushing with anger. Good, then he was feeling the same thing that Dean was feeling right now.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean hadn’t thought yelling at Sam could be so damned satisfying. “You’re a hard fucker to track down. What if something had happened to you, huh?”

Sam tried to sit up but Dean shoved him back to the ground. Dean didn’t care that Sam just gave him a dirty look that could have curdled milk. He was staying right here until Dean got some answers.

“Someone has to take your abilities seriously Dean, because you sure as hell aren’t. So if this is what it takes to get you to use them, then that’s what I’ll do.” Sam took a couple of deep breaths. “Get off of me.”

Dean stopped Sam from sitting up again. Sure Sam was his Guide, or whatever that bullshit was. He probably should have listened better.

“I don’t really need to use my abilities,” Dean said, his voice tight with controlled fury.

“Don’t really need to…” Sam trailed off for a moment, staring at Dean like he was unrecognisable. “Dean, you should use every edge you’ve got! Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What the hell does it matter Sam?” Dean demanded, feeling himself being pushed to the edge of something. “They’re under control, end of the matter.”

Sam made a sound of disgust before he bucked his hips. The tensing of muscles betrayed his intent and Dean clamped down with his thighs and grabbed Sam’s shoulders. He got jerked to the side before resettled back down on Sam’s hips. That seemed to really infuriate Sam. His breathing became sharper and his heart rate started going like a racecar. Dean wasn’t expecting Sam to grab his shirt and jerk himself up into a sitting position, one hand against the forest floor, bracing Sam’s seated position.

“Why am I the only one taking this seriously? Don’t you even care that this is something you should work at?”

Just seeing the accusation and condemnation in Sam’s eyes was more than enough to piss Dean off further and tip him over the edge. Dean’s tongue, brain and mouth seemed to gang up on him and take over.

“I care!” Dean snapped. “But what’s the damned point anyhow?!”

There was a grand total of ten inches separating him from Sam, but Dean’s words might as well have opened up a chasm between them. There it was out in the open, the one fact both of them had been ignoring. Dean had been actively ignoring it. Sam… well, Dean could only assume Sam had faith that he would find a way out of the deal that Dean had made with that friggin’ crossroads demon.

So honestly, with that hanging over his head, what was the damned point in using his new abilities and honing them when he would simply lose them in a few months time? There was no damned point in his opinion and it was just a waste of time.

He glanced down at Sam, seeing something shuttered in those brown eyes. It was probably guilt. Served Sam right for pushing something so damned hard.

“Dean –” Sam started.

If there was one thing that Dean couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t, stand it was when Sam tried to cover up the pain he felt inside with a neutral voice. He was terrible at it, and it only made Dean feel that much worse.

“Look, just…” he interrupted Sam before he thought over his words and spoke again. “I don’t have long left. So honestly, why bother. I’m a good Hunter already. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Sam nodded his head and Dean got off Sam, getting to his feet. Sam got up a couple of seconds later, brushing debris from himself. Dean handed Sam his jacket back without a word. The walk back was silent, Dean leading the way. They followed the creek back up and veered off. The restroom appeared in sight. Dean was about to turn the corner when Sam jerked on his hand. The next thing he knew, he was wrapped in a tight hug and unable to move his arms. Or breathe much for that matter.

“Sorry man.”

That was all Sam whispered in his ear, hot breath curling against his earlobe and neck. And suddenly all Dean could think was that Sam had better not release him for a bit or he would be treated to the sight of Dean with one red face.

When Sam released him, Dean just nodded his head curtly and hurried over to the car. Sam’s steps came behind him, crunching on the gravel. Dean jerked open the driver door and got in. He would need the distraction of driving now. The squeak of the door again was followed by the sigh of the seat as Sam got in and sat down.

“So where to now?” Sam asked as he dug into his pocket for the keys.

“Back to the cabin,” Dean took the offered keys and started up the car. He reversed out of the spot and started down to the main road.

“The cabin?” Sam sounded puzzled.

“We’ll lay low, see if the Trickster pops up again. Besides,” Dean shrugged. “Didn’t Jim and Blair get us all that food? We’ll eat better than usual for awhile.”

“I guess.” Sam said after a moment.

“Good,” Dean reached down and grabbed the Metallica tape before he stuck it in the deck. “Besides, you can make me a bacon cheeseburger or something for dinner.”

“Why am I the one doing all the cooking?” Sam groused.

Dean looked over at him. “Remember what happened when I tried to cook when I was a kid?”

“Yeah.” Sam had an expectant look on his face.

“Well, let’s just say it hasn’t improved over the years. You probably learned to cook and stuff like that at Stanford, right?”

Sam nodded his head. “Well, better to have it for lunch or dinner rather than breakfast.”

“Nothing wrong with that for breakfast.” Dean said.

“There is everything wrong with that for breakfast,” Sam lapsed into silence for a moment. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” it was harder than Dean thought to keep the defensive tone from his voice.

“I won’t push it any more. But… just practice once in awhile, would you?”

Dean glanced over at Sam, pursing his lips slightly. He took a deep breath and made a noise in the back of his throat. “If it gets you to stop nagging me, honey.”

Sam made an offended sound. “See if I make you a bacon cheeseburger.”

___________________________________________________________


	6. Chapter 6

Blair paused as he looked at the storefront’s frosted glass panes. For the sixth time, he thought that this couldn’t possibly be the right address. It was in some posh neighbourhood, with a few art galleries spread out down the street. But there in the frosted glass was the name of, ‘Nanci Abonsom’ clear as day.

He double checked the address on the card. It was right. But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He opened the door and walked in.

The smell of clay was the most predominant thing he noticed. There was a small curved desk that held a receptionist who was on the phone. She motioned that she would be a moment. Blair just nodded his head and looked over at the pedestals lining the far wall. Sculptures and pottery stood out in vivid oranges and blacks against the stark white. There was one in the center that caught his eye the most, mainly because he couldn’t tell if it was meant to be functional pottery of some kind of a sculpture.

It was a spider that much Blair could tell. The body was suspended by the eight thick legs that curled out from its body. It almost formed a sphere, except directly across from the moulded spider body was negative space in the exact same shape. It looked like two spiders intertwined. It also looked like it could be a fruit bowl, with how big the space was and how thick the legs were. It would easily hold things.

He was still looking at it when the scent of sandalwood wafted past him.

“I call it Trickster Mating 101.”

Blair turned around at the voice and grinned. Nanci was wearing a pair of beat-up old jeans and an oversized white smock, stained with clay both old and fresh. Surprisingly, her feet were bare and clay spattered as well. She smiled at him and motioned for him to follow her. He followed her from the front through a hallway and then into her studio. It was large and airy. There was a rack over to one side with drying pieces and then a monstrous looking kiln that sat like some squat beast awaiting offerings. There was a potter’s wheel that held something low and oval-shaped. He was so busy looking around that he didn’t snap out of it until Nancy waved a hand in front of his face.

“Yoo-hoo!” she peered into his face. “You back with me?”

Blair just nodded his head. Nanci smiled and sidled in closer to him.

“This is my studio. I come here and spend half the day farting around and the other half doing work. Actually, I think there’s something that we should get out of the way.”

That wasn’t something he normally heard. Blair turned to find that Nanci had a serious expression on her face. He braced himself, preparing to hear the worst.

“I know that you can’t communicate properly.”

Okay, Blair wasn’t expecting that. He furrowed his brows, wondering how in the hell she knew that. It must have shown on his face since Nanci was talking again.

“I stopped by the station to see if you wanted to grab an early lunch or something,” Nanci was pointedly not looking at him. “But I bumped into your partner, Jim. He told me that you can’t communicate well and that it’ll be awhile before you can.”

Blair just nodded his head before he shrugged his shoulders and gave a sheepish smile. Nanci gave him a grin in response.

“Okay, good. Glad that’s out of the way. I just didn’t want it to get weird. But hey, we don’t need to talk much or anything. Feel up to doing some clay work?”

Blair just reached up and adjusted his ponytail so it was out of the way. Nanci chuckled as she started walking to the other side of the studio.

“I’ve got plenty of extra clay, so I’ll get you started.”

It didn’t take long for Nanci to give him a smock to put on while she got out the extra potter’s wheel and dragged it over to hers. She plunked down a blob of clay on it for him. He shucked off his shoes and socks, leaving them by the entryway. He was just glad that the pants he wore were nice, but it wasn’t the end of the world if clay got on them. Nanci quickly and deftly removed her oval piece and set it on the drying rack. She got herself a fresh bit of clay before she sat herself down at her potter’s wheel. She moistened her hands in a small jar attached to the side. Blair looked around and found his, doing the same.

“Now don’t expect any moments from Ghost, got it?”

Nanci gave him a wink and a grin as she started treading the foot pedal and working the clay. Blair followed her example, keeping the speed slow and steady. A tall curving shape gradually took shape on Nanci’s wheel. Blair was pretty sure the best he could ever hope for was to become a mug. And it would be questionable at that, given how the clay wasn’t doing what he wanted it to do. Nanci seemed to notice his predicament and giggled.

“Your fingers are too dry. You’ve got to constantly keep them moist. It helps the clay flow well and take shape more easily.”

He dunked his fingers into the jar and let the wheel do the work. The clay was smoothing under his fingers now. When he glanced up, he found himself staring at Nanci as she worked. The clay seemed to be taking immediate shape under her deft fingers. The squat round body appeared and seemed to grow long legs that tapered and arranged themselves in a comical pose. It didn’t take her much longer to fashion a top hat and a cane that she placed at jaunty angles. When she looked up at him, he didn’t even bother to look away and try to cover up what he was doing.

“Insanely crackers.” Blair said before he winced. He had wanted to say, ‘That’s amazing’ but yeah… Nanci’s face broke into a slow smile. She ducked her head, a steady flush of colour creeping over her cheeks.

“Thanks. I guess. I just see shapes in the clay and I try to draw it out. Trust me, there are a lot of reject days.” She carefully picked up her creation and took it to the drying rack before coming back over. “What are you trying to make?”

Blair made drinking motions with a hand. “Cup.”

“A cup?” Nanci nodded her head. “Easy peasy.”

It was very hard to pay attention to the fact that Nanci was bringing her stool over closer to his. He had just wanted to say ‘mug’ but ‘cup’ was pretty damned close. Maybe he was getting better already. Nanci was leaning in closer to him, her warmth and the scent of sandalwood wrapping around him when a knock on the studio door made them both look up. The receptionist was standing there, looking anxious.

“There’s a police officer here to see you Nanci,” the receptionist paused for a moment before asking, “Shall I tell her you’ll be out in a moment?”

Nanci sighed and got up from her stool. “Please and thank you.” When the door closed she looked at Blair. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting interruptions today. Just give me a couple of minutes, okay?”

Blair nodded his head and watched as Nanci left her studio. He would not try to think of why a cop was here to ask Nanci questions. A frown came to his face and he looked down at his sad, misshapen lump that was supposed to be the beginnings of a mug. It would probably only become that if Nanci took her talented hands to it. Blair got up from his seat and ambled over to the drying rack. Spiders seemed to be something that Nanci made a lot of. There were quite a few interspersed among other piece and –

A rattle close to his feet made him look down. There was nothing but that rattle came again. It sounded like something strangely weighty trying to scuttle past something. Blair really hoped it wasn’t a rat or something like that. It sounded like it was coming from underneath the drying rack. He got down on his hands and knees, peering underneath. It was kind of dark and shadowy, but he could just make out…

Something scuttled and thumped against the drying rack again. Startled, Blair scrambled back almost reaching for a weapon he didn’t have on him. He had caught a shadowy glimpse of whatever was under there. And whatever it was, it was big. He moved a good bit back, and started peering underneath. He didn’t move until a shadow fell over him.

“Blair?” Nanci was crouched beside him and reaching to touch his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

He shook his head and gestured to underneath the drying rack. A furrow creased Nanci’s brow and she got down on her hands and knees as well, peering under. When she suddenly stuck her arm underneath, Blair honestly panicked a little bit.

“Crabcakes!” he grabbed the arm supporting her.

She looked back at him startled but drew her hand forth. In it was a small fired spider sculpture. The black and orange body seemed almost mocking. It was a small statue. It couldn’t possibly be the only thing under there. But still…

Nanci was peering back underneath and when she sat back on her haunches, she seemed satisfied. “There’s nothing else under there Blair. Though I have been trying to figure out where this got to.”

Well, Blair felt entirely foolish now. Not to mention like a complete idiot. Nanci smiled at him.

“Sorry to disappoint you. Nothing to save me from today.”

Blair sat back, cross-legged. He was mildly puzzled. There had been something underneath that rack, banging at the wall. Damned if he knew what though. Nanci must have taken his silence as a bad thing. She scooted over closer to him and placed the small spider sculpture in his hands.

“Think of it as a token from the fair maiden,” she gave him that winning grin again. “Since I’m sure there’ll be a dragon the next time around. There usually is.”

Blair just blinked as she leaned in and kissed his gently on the cheek. He was pretty sure his face was beet red now. He cleared his throat hastily and nodded his head.

“Peach latex.”

Nanci smiled. “So, how about we finish off that mug of yours and then order in lunch? There’s a great vegetarian place around the corner. They do an excellent tofu burger.”

A grin came to Blair’s face. That sounded like a great idea.

___________________________________________________________

The cabin was quiet in the early evening. Sam was in the kitchen, washing up the dishes. Being back here at the cabin felt a little bit like a false slice of normalcy, of playing house.

Dean had been pretty quiet since coming back from the national park. Sam was pretty sure it was his entire fault for once.

In all honesty, Sam was a little bit surprised that Dean hadn’t killed him. They had arrived back at the cabin in the late afternoon and Sam had fixed an early dinner. Dean, well, Dean had been determined to just not talk about what had happened and been said in the forest.

At least, after that punch to the face anyhow. Dean was sitting outside on the front porch and Sam didn’t have the faintest idea of what he was doing. He really didn’t mean to push. But Dean’s fatalistic attitude was infuriating and depressing all at the same time. But with almost no leads on who held Dean’s contract, even Sam had to admit it was a slim hope at best.

He dried off the plates and stuck them back in the cupboard before he tossed the washcloth over the faucet head and headed for the porch. It was nice and balmy outside, with the sun casting yellow-orange light on everything. Dean was sitting on the top step, just looking out at the forest. Sam didn’t say anything, the wood creaking and settling beneath his weight. They just sat like that for awhile before Dean finally spoke.

“You’re right.”

“Huh?” Sam turned his head and looked at Dean.

“I should be taking it more seriously. But at the same time…” Dean trailed off for a moment, a hand rubbing the nape of his neck. “If I wind up in hell, will it make me a different kind of monster? Something more vicious and –”

“You’re not going to hell Dean.” Sam snapped.

Dean frowned, lips pressed together tightly. The sounds of the forest were the only thing heard for the next few minutes before it was broken.

“Sam.”

Dean’s quiet, but abrupt, word made him look back over. Dean was looking at him now, hazel eyes intent.

“Face facts. We’re flying blind about my contract. We don’t know who holds it and if we’d even be able to kill them. So all I have is the time left to me. Might as well make it count.”

Sam’s response was to scowl and turn his attention to the forest. He didn’t like to hear him talk like that, already condemning himself. If Dean went to hell, Sam honestly didn’t know what he would do without Dean. In some weird way, Dean was like a moral compass. There were some times where Sam would have handled a case much differently, probably in a more cold and efficient manner. The case with elkolo was something that would have ended brutally if Sam had his way. Dean shifted, the wood creaking beneath his weight before he got up.

“I’m going for a swim. Coming?”

He nodded his head silently. They set off for the lake, the terrain familiar to the eye. Sam plunked himself down on the knoll while Dean stripped down to his underwear and got in the water. The sky was turning dark purple and black when Dean finally called out to him.

“You sure you don’t want to come in?”

“I’m sure.” Sam replied.

So he sat there and watched as Dean swam about. The sun slowly disappeared and it wasn’t until the moon was rising in the sky that Dean came out. At least it was a full moon and the light was bright. Though it made everything seem a little bit fey. Sam got up as Dean was pulling his pants on and buttoning them up. Dean didn’t bother to put his shirt back on and just stood there, looking at Sam.

“Dude, you’re being weird.”

It was the last thing Sam was expecting to hear and he was responding before he could even think about it.

“No, you’re being weird.”

“I guess I could practice some more,” Dean frowned before he glanced at Sam and smirked. “You could wipe that pissy expression from your face.”

Sam scowled and turned away from Dean. Considering Dean was standing in the moonlight and Sam was pretty much lurking by the shadowy trees, he was surprised Dean could see anything on his face. He started walking, hearing Dean’s hurried steps behind him.

“Okay, look, I’m –”

A low and eerie howl echoed out around them. Sam tensed looking around before he turned back to look at Dean. There was an intense look on Dean’s face as he looked around, sniffing every so often. When a gentle breeze blew around them, coming across the lake, Dean screwed his nose in disgust and turned to look at Sam.

“Back to the cabin. Now.”

Given the tone in Dean’s voice, Sam didn’t argue. They headed back to the cabin at a fast clip. When they got inside and Dean started drawing out protective symbols on the doors with flour, did Sam finally ask the important question.

“What is it?” he asked as he looked into the fridge and found a bottle of mustard.

“Damned if I know what exactly. But it smelled of rot and death.” Dean’s face was grim.

Sam didn’t ask any more questions, smearing out protective symbols on the windows with the mustard he found in the fridge. When all the windows were done, Sam dumped the mustard bottle in the sink and wiped his hands clean, walking into the living room. Dean was pulling on a shirt and had the weapon bag sitting on the coffee table.

“Wendigo?” Sam ventured as he sat down.

“Maybe. But that didn’t sound like one. Too low-pitched.” Dean put in a round of rock salt shells in the sawed-off and closed it.

Sam opened his mouth to say something else but Dean had cocked his head, apparently hearing something. Silence filled the cabin, though it seemed to Sam that the steady thump of his heart drowned out every other sound. It took a few minutes before he heard it as well. Something rustling about outside, looking for a way into the house. He glanced at Dean, slowly reaching for the machete. When all else failed, cutting something’s head off worked about ninety nine percent of the time. Decapitation was a tough thing to survive. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the machete handle and pulled it free of the sheath as quietly as possible. When Dean tapped him on the shoulder, he looked up to find Dean pointing to the window.

At first, when he looked over, there seemed to be nothing outside. But as his eyes adjusted he could see it. There was a pair of pale grey eyes that were barely visible through the foliage a few feet away from the house. He tightened his grip on the machete handle. Dean’s hand grabbed his arm, stilling him. When he looked over, it was, and paradoxically enough, wasn’t a surprise to see a snarl on Dean’s lips. His eyes were locked with the creature’s. After a moment those pale grey eyes and skeletal face sunk back into the foliage until it couldn’t be seen any more.

“What the hell was that?” Sam muttered, half to himself.

“Wish I knew.” Dean sighed. “It’s going to be a long night.”

___________________________________________________________

Jim had better days. After dealing with the paperwork, he had left the station, trying to get a hold of either Dean or Sam. Then that woman had interrupted him, looking for Blair. It was Nelly or something like that. He’d found himself slightly flustered, like an idiot, before he babbled something out and hurried to the truck.

Giving the report to Simon hadn’t been fun. Especially since his report consisted of him saying that he had no idea of what happened. For all he knew, the missing kid and their murdering perp were one and the same. Simon had sounded annoyed, but accepted it. He didn’t like it and as soon as he could, he was going to find Dean and Sam to get some answers. They were probably went back up to the cabin and holed up for a bit.

He’d picked up a burger and some fries for himself. To hell with Blair bitching at him about his cholesterol. He opened the door to the apartment and walked in, locking it behind him. He looked into the bag, found the fries and started eating them. So when he reached the kitchen and looked up, there was a surprise waiting for him.

The surprise was a woman, wearing one of Blair’s shirts, reaching for the peanut butter and crackers. Or rather, was trying to. He could try to be nice, but he had no idea who this person was. What he would do was not pull a gun on them. That was as nice as he was going to get.

“Who the –”

The woman screamed and jumped. Jim had to admit, her reflexes were good. Not to mention the fact that she paid attention to her surroundings. The woman’s hand had gone for the knife block and she’d yanked out the butcher’s knife, holding it in a defensive position. But when she saw his face, she relaxed.

“Oh Detective Ellison.” She slid the knife back into its spot. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“Nelly, right?” Jim said. It was the same woman who had stopped by the station looking for Blair earlier on in the day.

“Nanci. Sorry if I startled you. Blair’s asleep and I was absolutely starving. I mean I’ve been dieting and tofu burgers are awesome but sometimes I feel like eating a hunk of meat, you know?”

Jim didn’t know, but he felt like an idiot for not noticing it. Not to mention the way that Blair’s scent clung to her, temporarily masking hers. Even unable to speak, Blair still got chicks. Jim didn’t know if he should congratulate his partner or shake his head in disgust at his own skills. Nanci managed to tip the cracker box down and the peanut butter next.

“Sorry to bother you.” Nanci said as she walked out of the kitchen with her prizes in hand. “I’ll get out of your way.”

With a silent nod of his head, Jim stepped aside as Nanci slipped past him. That should have been the end of it. But underneath Blair’s scent was another one, something peculiar. It smelled of sun, earth and age. A frown came to his face as he watched Nanci hurry up the stairs. Most people didn’t smell like… that. They had their own distinct body odor. Other scents dissipated, but there was always that defining scent. Nanci did seem to have that. Jim had spent far too long trusting his senses to dismiss them now.

He placed his dinner on the counter, trying to temporarily put the issue of Nanci’s non-existent body odour aside. Between knowing nothing of what happened in the clearing and now this, Jim knew he wouldn’t sleep well tonight.

“Won’t hurt to check.” Jim muttered to himself. “After I talk to Dean and Sam.”

He grabbed his dinner as he walked back out the apartment. He was just closing and locking the door when a strange scuttling sound came from inside the apartment. Jim opened the door a crack and looking inside. There was absolutely nothing. He looked for a moment longer, sure that he would see something. But the apartment was quiet.

“Damn it, this day has been too long.”

___________________________________________________________

It was the sound of something scratching on the window, loud and staccato, that made Dean jerk awake. He automatically turned the gun in his hand towards the sound that awoke him. Sam was standing there, machete in hand and something clutched in his fist.

“Shit, how long have I been asleep?”

“About twenty minutes. Seemed like you needed it, so I didn’t wake you,” Sam peered out the window. “Whatever is out there, it’s playing with us now.”

“Great. Just what I wanted to hear.” Dean rubbed at his face and sat up on the couch. “I didn’t even feel tired.”

“You were out like a light. … You were talking in your sleep too.”

Sam was still looking out the window, not at Dean. For some reason it made Dean pause. Sam’s shoulders seemed tense, like Dean had said something terrible.

“Yeah? Like what?” Dean kept his voice purposefully nonchalant. “Stop eating burritos?”

Sam’s gaze flickered to him for a moment. And for a moment, it felt to Dean that he was gazing into a vision of the future. Cloaked in shadow, Sam was peering out at his intended prey, the only goal its gory death. Course, it could just be Dean and all in his head. But then the moment passed and Sam shifted so he was facing Dean. Dean watched as Sam’s big hand dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of newspaper. In three strides, Sam was standing in front of him, scrap of paper held out.

“Didn’t want to forget it.” Sam said with a shrug.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment before he took it. The black marker words seemed to jump out at him in Sam’s firm hand.

  


  


  
Dean blinked as he looked over the words, a sense of foreboding creeping over him. His first reaction was to just flat out not believe it. Seriously, him spouting prophetic shit like this? It was right up there with angels and sasquatch: things that didn’t exist and were figments of the imagination. But seeing the look on Sam’s face… Dean couldn’t just outright disbelieve it. Not to mention there was that factor of infinite doom that felt like it was hanging over his head like the freakin’ sword of Damocles…

“Sword of Damocles?” Sam echoed. “What are you talking about?”

“Huh? Nothing.” Dean just shrugged. He hadn’t realised he had been talking aloud. “Look, I say we just go out there and introduce this thing to a whole new world of pain.”

“When we have no idea what it is? That’s just asking for trouble.” Sam frowned.

“And so we just sit here with our thumbs up our asses?” Dean groused.

Sam gave him a weird look and opened his mouth to say something. Then he obviously thought better of it since he just shook his head and peered back out the window. Dean looked out as well now, just seeing shadowy, moonlight frosted trees.

Neither one of them was expecting the inhuman sounding screech that came from the front of the cabin.

They were both running towards the door. Dean got there first and wrenched it open, running outside, gun levelled and ready to shoot. Sam was right behind him, machete held tightly and a strange looking tribal figurine dangling from a string in his other hand.

Then again, neither one of them was expecting to see a woman standing there, her legs and shirt spattered with blood and brain matter. The creature that had been lurking outside the cabin was lying at her feet, face caved in. Dean glanced down at the woman’s feet and sure enough they were dark red, globs of brain stuck to them.

“Fucking dodo.” The woman snapped in irritation.

Dean knew he shouldn’t laugh, he knew it, but damn if this entire thing wasn’t strange. First, it was the Norns only a few days ago. Now it was a woman appearing out of nowhere and braining something that was playing with them? And come to think of it, why was a shirt the only thing she was wearing? And she showed up at just the right moment? It smacked so much of coincidence that Dean couldn’t overlook it. So when the laugh slipped out from his mouth, both Sam and the woman looked at him like he was crazy.

“You’re kidding me right?” Dean just shook his head before he levelled the gun at her. “What the hell are you?”

The woman didn’t even looked phased. She just looked between Dean and Sam before a slow smile came to her face.

“What I am isn’t important. What is important is that I’ve finally discharged the promise I made to your father.”

“Excuse me?” Dean looked at the woman. “What are you –”

“You’re the one who called me.” Sam interrupted.

The woman nodded her head. Dean looked back at Sam, wondering when this had happened.

“Look, the point is that John asked me to look out for your two and I have. This dodo… it’s something conjured,”

Dean started to speak. “Who –”

“The Trickster,” the woman paused. “He can be annoying, but he does have his redeeming moments… if you can call them that.”

“Why do I feel like I’m having a conversation with a sane Rorschach?” Dean mumbled to himself.

The woman chuckled before she shook her head. “Dean, simply because you don’t understand doesn’t mean you just discredit it. Sam, may I have a word with you?”

Everything in this entire conversation seemed to be coming right out of left field. And right field. Might as well throw in center field as well. Dean glanced back at Sam to see hesitation and curiosity warring on his face. A moment later, he seemed to decide and nodded his head. Dean scowled but Sam placed a hand on his shoulders. There was a determined expression in those eyes and Dean relaxed slightly. When Sam’s game face was on, it meant something was potentially in a lot of trouble.

Dean didn’t take his eyes off Sam as he walked over to the woman. He stopped a pace away from her and she seemed satisfied. Then she glanced at Dean before she looked back at Sam and started talking. Dean didn’t mind the waiting. It was the not knowing that always got him. So he turned up his hearing slightly and heard nothing. He could see Sam’s mouth moving now, and the woman’s as well in reply, but none of their words reached his ears. But a slight scuttling sound did come from behind him. He turned his head to look and see what it was.

It took him a bit to see but there was a spider, sitting in a shadowy corner of the porch. It walked forward, legs making a rapid scuttling sound against the porch floorboards. It was huge. Its orange and black body, and rows of eyes, gleamed ominously in the moonlight. Dean’s finger feathered the trigger and the spider tensed. But when it didn’t make a move, he moved his finger away. The spider seemed to relax and scuttled onto the steps, just a little bit closer.

There was something about the spider that seemed off to Dean, aside from the obvious fact that it was some of mutant spider about the size of about the size of a lab puppy. Other than that, he couldn’t place it.

“Dean?”

He turned to find the woman standing right in front of him now. She was looking at him with a tilted head and a question in her eyes. Dean blew out a long breath. Considering he had no idea of what she was and that she had snuck on him, he didn’t feel as confrontational as he should have.

“Did anyone tell you it’s not a good idea to sneak up on a guy holding a loaded shotgun?”

She smiled and patted his cheek. “I’ve survived worse.”

The scents of sun, earth and age seemed to waft out from her and wrap around him. It made him think of a sunny, dusty place where grassy land seemed to stretch on forever, and the horizon was broken up by mountains in the distance. Then she pulled her hand away and the image was gone.

“Anyway, you two should check out the mystery spot in Broward County, down in Florida,” the woman walked towards the porch and the spider there scuttled. “If you leave tomorrow, you should get there within a week or so.”

“Why should we check it out?” Sam’s came over to where they were standing.

“Someone will go missing there. At least I think. Not too sure. Things get a little murky when I look into the future. So I deal with the here and now more than anything.” The woman crouched down and when she stood up, the spider was half perched on her shoulder and head. She made it look like it weighed nothing at all. “Oh, and don’t tell Jim about this. He’s had enough trouble with everything that happened recently. Just tell him everything has been taken care of.”

“Okay.” Dean said slowly. “What is your name?”

“My name?” The woman paused. “I’ve had a lot. But you boys can call me Nanci, with an ‘i’ mind you. That ‘y’ stuff is far too conventional for my taste. Or you can call me Isanna. Your father did.”

Dean looked at Sam. Sam had a wide eyed look of realisation. So they both had seen that page in dad’s journal. When they looked back to the cabin porch, Nanci and the spider were gone. When Sam tapped him on the shoulder, he turned around. The body of the thing that Nanci had called a dodo was gone as well.

Sam looked at Dean and asked, “Did you get the impression that –”

“Honestly, you know what I think?” Dean said. “I think I’ll be glad to get a normal case after this. I could do with a simple exorcism.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam agreed. “We could check out the Florida lead she just gave us.”

“Why not? Sun and sand sounds pretty good,” Dean turned to face Sam, the shotgun by his side. “What did she want to talk to you about?”

Sam shrugged as he headed back into the cabin. “Nothing much.”

Dean watched as Sam disappeared inside. That had to be the first time that Sam had lied right to his face. It was either that or Sam really didn’t want to talk about it now. He walked inside, taking the shells out of the shotgun. Sam was already sitting down on the couch, putting stuff back inside the weapon bag. Dean sat down beside him, questions on the tip of his tongue. But he held them. If Sam could do that much for him and not press him, then Dean could extend the same courtesy his way. They sat there for a while, the silence stretched tense beside them.

“So what?” Dean finally broke it. “Did she offer herself up as a sacrifice to your lusty manhood or something?”

“Dude!” Sam choked out in surprise.

“Not it?” Dean shrugged. Once one got over the creep factor of not knowing exactly what Nanci was and such… “I totally would have hit that.”

“Dean, do we need to have a talk about reality versus porn… again?” Sam tried and failed to keep the disbelief from his voice.

“Just saying. You know, brain covered feet aside.”

Sam threw up his hands and shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

___________________________________________________________

Blair blinked and sat up in his bed. A glance over at his clock showed that the time was nine twenty in the morning. He vaguely thought that he should get to work and then remembered that he was off. There was a box of crackers and an empty peanut butter jar beside the clock. The bed shifted and moved. When he looked over, he saw that Nanci was still beside him, fast asleep. But Blair could have sworn he heard the front door open and slam shut. Not that he was too sure any more. He slipped out from underneath the covers, pulled on some clothes and wandered downstairs to get some breakfast. Jim was sitting at the kitchen table, looking over the newspaper and eating a greasy spoon breakfast of bacon and eggs.

“Cholesterol blown roof.” Blair muttered. It still amazed him that Jim hadn’t had a heart attack yet.

“Morning stud.” Jim grinned at him.

Blair just looked at him, wondering how he could have known Nanci was here. And then Jim answered for him.

“Your, ahem, girlfriend was in the kitchen when I got home last night, looking for a midnight snack. We’re out of peanut butter and crackers by the way.”

Blair just nodded his head. He fixed himself a bowl of bran and it wasn’t until he was sitting down again that Jim spoke once more.

“You just missed Dean and Sam. They’re heading out of town and stopped off to say bye.”

Blair just looked at Jim with raised eyebrows as he ate a spoonful of breakfast. Jim must have gotten the point since he folded up the newspaper and started talking. By the time he was done, Blair’s cereal was a soggy, forgotten mess. Apparently a lot had happened in the clearing with the witch and revenant. Not that he remembered much of what happened after talking with Sam and something clocking him on the side of the head. But apparently the Norns had shown up and dealt with everything.

He was pretty sure if he had read it in a book, it would have been too deus ex machina for him.

Then there was the problem of Max Schneider demanding a manhunt for his son Caesar. Blair was starting to wonder what would happen on that front, but Jim held up the newspaper. The large headline of, ‘Schneider Heir found in Mt Baker National Park.’ Apparently he’d been found close to the site of the old Schneider home, in a ravine with his neck broken.

Again, slightly deus ex machina in a book, but real life had a funny way about it sometimes.

He looked at his bowl of cereal and quickly finished it off. Jim made a gagging sound and continued with his bacon and eggs. Breakfast would have continued on in this silent manner except a very loud and pronounced, ‘Oh shit!’ came from upstairs.

Five minutes later, Nanci came running down the stairs in a panic. Her clothes were half thrown on and she was frantically look about for her shoes.

“I’m so damned late it’s not funny! I have a client coming to the gallery in thirty minutes.” Nanci was looking under the couch. “Aha! One shoe! Where’s the other?!”

Blair didn’t try to look Jim in the eye, but he knew Jim was amused to some degree. He helped Nanci find her other shoe – stuck behind the TV – before seeing her to the door and giving her a kiss goodbye. She dashed down the hall, promising to stop by at the end of the week to see him again. Blair stood there and watched her disappear down the stairs in a loud, swearing cacophony. When he couldn’t hear her anymore he went back inside and sat down. By now, his bran had pretty much dissolved in the milk. He dumped the rest and made himself a smoothie.

Jim looked serious now as he sat back down. Blair wasn’t too sure what to think when Jim slid a book over to him.

“Sam left that for you. Figures you’ll know what to do with it.”

Blair put down his smoothie and reached for the book. He opened it, finding a full page illustration of a spider. On the opposite page there was a strange little rhyme, hastily scrawled out by someone. He started leafing through it. It was full of tales, primarily about Anansi, but of trickster gods in general. He was still looking through it when Jim got up from the table.

“I’m going to do some grocery shopping. Do you need more of your weird wheatgrass stuff?”

“Shopping do I.” he said quickly as he closed the book.

He downed his smoothie and hurried upstairs to change. When he came back down, Jim was waiting patiently by the door.

“You know,” Jim began as Blair tossed on a jacket and jammed his feet into his shoes before lacing them up. “You must be getting better. Now you just sound like Yoda rather than saying random words.”

“Funny it’s not.” Blair snapped.

Jim just snickered as he left the apartment and headed down to the truck. Blair scowled and dug his door keys out from his pocket. He was leaving when the book sitting on the kitchen caught his eye. He’d flip through it when he came back. He closed the door and locked it.

Blair didn’t hear the scuttling sound that came from inside the apartment as he jogged after Jim.

___________________________________________________________


End file.
